


An Unexpected White Christmas

by mandysimo13



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 1950s, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Movie AU, USA setting, White Christmas AU, little angst, merry christmas y'all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandysimo13/pseuds/mandysimo13
Summary: Thorin and Frerin Durin survive WWII to grace the stages of Broadway and bring joy across the nation. But something's missing from Thorin's life, much as it pains him to admit. Frerin takes it upon himself to coax him to open up to the possibilities of love when a letter from an old army buddy arrives. Bilbo travels the country with his performing partner Bofur doing their traveling minstrel act. He loves doing what he does but is afraid to take chances. When Bofur takes the decision out of his hands to reach out and tempt fate, fate brings him Thorin. Through song and dance, romance, some misunderstanding, and quirky mishaps, these four men find something special to be had during the holiday season.





	1. Chapter 1

~1944 - WWII France, Christmas Eve~

 

Thorin didn’t know exactly how he let himself get roped into putting on a full Christmas show, complete with song and dance, for the entire company on Christmas eve. But yet, there he was, tap dancing to a jaunty, jazzy tune as Frerin kept time beside him, clapping his hands and keeping the men’s attention on him and the stage instead of the distant sounds of war. Most of the men in his company, some barely old enough to be considered men, were seated or standing in front of the stage, watching as he, Frerin, and a few volunteers entertained them to keep their spirits up.

Few things were as depressing as wartime coinciding with Christmastime.

Of course, there were a few men who had elected to keep watch for not only advancing fire that might end the show early, but also the arrival of their new commanding officer, General Beorn Carrock. The man that they had grown to trust, fear, and love, General Gandalf Grey, was being reassigned, as were many men in the company. Come New Year’s Day, many of them would be scattered across the frontlines in brand new companies. This would probably be the last time that many of them shared the same space.

So, when Frerin suggested a combined Christmas and farewell show, Thorin couldn’t find it in him to refuse.

For a week they had scrambled to accumulate the necessary items to put together as good a show as they possibly could. A man who had been an art student painted a snowy town scene on a repurposed sheet for a backdrop; complete with houses, hills and snow covered trees. They managed to find some old instruments and discarded decorations in a local church that was all too happy to help some homesick soldiers. Some men came forward with singing, dancing, and comedic talent and offered to share them for the enjoyment of the rest of the company. Between them all, they were able to come together with a setlist and even write a song of thanks for their beloved general as a farewell gift.

He tapped out the final beats of the song, arms coming up to gesture the song’s finale, and let the men cheer. At least his skills from his former life, “Jack-of-all-things-performing”, had found a small use in the military. He missed his old life of performing. Not because of the fame or the money. He had truly gotten pleasure from knowing that he had made a difference in people’s lives for the better.

The military was a shock of cold water. He had been used to odd hours, hurried meals, and orders being barked at him. But he had found it difficult to have all his freedom stripped from him the second he was drafted. Being told where to be, when to move and eat and sleep, how to do everything, the unquestioning obedience of it all was not a feeling he relished nor accustomed himself to. He did not enjoy having a gun in his hand and having to fire it at men he didn’t know, men he had no quarrel with. He let himself smile, enjoying the momentary feeling of having made the men’s day brighter through his performing skills rather than ending someone’s life by firing bullets at an enemy.

The man on the piano took a bow and Thorin moved his arms to emphasize the pianist’s skills, silently telling the audience to give him his credit due, before centering himself on stage once more. He turned his head to Frerin who had somehow managed to find and borrow an old music box that had the tune “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” wired into it. Frerin cranked the music box and opened the lid so the music plinked and tinkled out.

Then Thorin began to sing.

 _“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know._ _Where the treetops glisten, and children listen, to hear, sleighbells in the snow.”_

As he sang he looked out into the sad, scared, faces of the men who had hoped against hope that they’d be able to go home for Christmas and were denied. He saw a few of them duck their heads to wipe their teary eyes, thinking of home. He sympathized.

When the song drew to a close, the soft applause a sobering thing, he leveled each man with a look of peace and encouragement. He searched for a moment, looking for the General to address him directly, thanking him for all he’d done for them. He couldn’t find the older man’s glittering eye and amused but stern smile and so went ahead to give a speech about the man as planned.

“That wraps up our show this evening, we’re all so glad to have brought a little joy to you all this Christmas so far from home. I want to take a moment to thank our performers and musicians,” he gestured to the men who had joined him onstage for their signoff. Applause rippled through the company and the men onstage took their bow. When it died down he went on to say, “I just wish that General Grey had been able to join us. As most of you know, he and many of our brothers in arms are being reassigned. While many of us are advancing tomorrow, he is being put to use in the rear, shaping up things back there. We owe a lot to General Grey, a man who has seen just as much, and more, as many of us. A man who has never shirked-”

Suddenly a man rose from the seats in the back and shouted, “attention!”

Instantly, every man rose and stood at attention, knowing the owner of the voice. General Grey stalked towards the front, a wry smile on his face as he mounted the steps of the stage.

“Who gave you permission to engage in this,” he gestured with a flick of his wrist to the decoration, “frivolity, so close to the advancing line?”

Thorin opened his mouth to take full blame, not wanting anyone else to be punished when he had spearheaded the operation. It may have been Frerin’s idea, but he had been the one to put it into action. But Frerin cut him off and said, “it was me sir!” He saluted and stood at attention in front of the general to explain. “You see, my brother here, Thorin Durin, is, was, an entertainer back home-”

“I’m well aware of Captain Durin’s abilities,” General Grey interrupted.

“Well, then you know, sir, that Captain Durin is perfect for keeping morale high at a time like this, seeing as it’s Christmas and all. Sir.”

General Grey nodded, humming noncommittally. “And you are?”

“Private First Class Frerin Durin, Sir.”

“I see,” the General said dryly. “At ease, soldier,” he commanded and Frerin complied, taking a step back. The General turned to face the whole company and spoke to them. “This company is now under the command of General Beorn Carrock, direct from Head of Command. He’s tough, just what this outfit needs,” he said with a grin, “he’ll having you running inspections night and day, marching until your feet fall off and then some. And if you don’t give him everything you’ve got then I’ll come back and fight for the enemy!” He softened a fraction and said, “but I doubt there will be any chance of that happening. This is a fine company, and I’m proud to have lead you into battle.” He nodded to all of them and added, “Merry Christmas.”

He turned to Thorin and asked, “now how do we end this thing, hmm?”

Thorin smiled at him, thankful to finally have a proper opening to the finale they’d written for the General. “I have just the thing, Sir.” He signalled to the men and conducted them to start their song. Trumpets, piano, and drums started a marching tune and Thorin lead them in song as men flooded the stage from behind, dressed in full marching uniform.

 

_“We’ll follow the old man wherever he wants to go_   
_Long as he wants to go, opposite to the foe_   
_We’ll stay with the old man wherever he wants to stay_   
_Long as he stays away from the battle’s fray_

_Because we love him, we love him_   
_Especially when he keeps us on the ball_   
_And we’ll tell the kiddies we answered duty’s call_   
_With the grandest son of a soldier of them all!”_

 

They repeated the song once more, marching behind the General as he made his way off the stage, down the small aisle, shaking hands and clapping backs, on his way to the vehicle that would take him back to the barracks. The men stood at attention, watching him go, respect shining in their eyes.

Then the sky opened up and enemy planes flew overhead, dropping bombs and spraying fire over the crowd. The men ran for cover, the gaiety from before obliterated. Thorin shouted orders to his men, ushering them to safer ground, out of harm’s way. He moved to the side, near a crumbling wall, urging the men to run, to take cover, shoving them past as they ran. He searched the crowd for his brother, hoping the boy made it to cover and wasn’t buried under bricks or shot down.

Distracted, he never heard Frerin call his name, nor did he hear the wall crack behind him. Suddenly, he had the wind knocked out of him as he was being pushed towards and underneath a jeep, bricks and dust crashing down around him. He rubbed the dust out of his eyes and turned his head to find Frerin pressed up behind him, breathing heavily.

“Frerin! Where in Mahal’s name did you come from?”

“From behind you, you great idiot! Did you not see the wall falling down on you?”

Thorin shook his head and shifted to check his brother for injuries. His eyes dropped instantly to Frerin’s arm, red with blood. “Your arm’s been cut,” Thorin said, pulling a wrap bandage out of his back and tying it around Frerin’s arm. “We need to get you to the medics, now!”

“Don’t worry so much, Thorin,” Frerin protested, though obviously in pain. “It’s just a scratch, I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine until it gets infected and rots off.” He listened for more signs of attack and, hearing none, shoved Frerin out from under the vehicle. “Come on, up,” Thorin urged.

Frerin had to wait longer than Thorin was comfortable with to be seen. There were men with graver injuries than a fractured radius and a gash needing four stitches, but he couldn’t help but worrying over his brother. Once he had finally been taken in to have his arm stitched and set, Thorin collapsed into a chair and let himself relax.

After about an hour, one of the nurses came out to tell Thorin he could visit before heading back to the barracks. Relief washed over him and he let himself take a deep, worriless breath. He rushed to his brother’s side, dropping to his knees to inspect for himself that the rest of him was hale and healthy.

“You’re such a worrywort,” Frerin chided in good humor.

“You cause me nothing _but_ worry,” Thorin countered.

“Well, that’s a fine way to thank your baby brother for saving your life.”

“Who asked you to save me, anyway. Aren’t I the commanding officer, here, Private?” Thorin felt a little sour pulling rank on his own brother while he lay in a sickbed but he couldn’t help it. He should have been the one saving people, not getting saved by his younger brother because he was distracted.

“Don’t pout. It’s not a good look on you,” Frerin spat back at him, sticking his tongue out at him like they were children again.

Thorin sighed and shook his head. “Is there anything I can do for you, Frerin?”

“Well, since you asked,” Frerin said with a wry grin.

That look never boded well for Thorin and he swallowed in anticipation. “What?”

“Finally take me up on my offer to be a Brother Act once we make it home. You’ve been putting it off for far too long, Thorin. You know it would make you happy,” he told him, sing-songing his words at the end, a smile tugging at his lips.

“They must’ve given you the good stuff if you think I’m letting you come on the road with me,” Thorin said, dryly. Frerin had wanted to join his solo act ever since Thorin had started it, insisting that they would be a good team. But Thorin always refused, wanting to have something for himself, as selfish as it sounded. Frerin was having none of his dismissal.

“What would mother and father do, what would Dis do, when they find out that I was injured under your watch? They told you to take care of me and look at me,” Frerin said, pouting and pointing to his injured arm. “I’m a cripple!”

Rolling his eyes and sighing dramatically, Thorin dropped his head onto the mattress next to Frerin’s leg and mumbled bitterly into the padding. “Why? Why did this happen to me,” he bemoaned.

“Because fate demanded it,” Frerin insisted.

“You should’ve let the wall fall on me,” Thorin complained. He drew a strengthening breath and finally looked up at his brother. He looked well enough, if a little tired and pained. But he was right; Thorin should have taken better care to look out for his brother in the brief time Frerin was under his command. He owed it to him. “Fine. We’ll do it.”

“Yes! Thank you, Thorin,” he cheered, looping his good arm around Thorin’s neck to pull him in for a hug. “You won’t regret this.”

“Famous last words,” Thorin said dryly.


	2. Chapter 2

~1951 - Miami, FL - One Week Til Christmas~

 

It had been just over five years since the war ended and four years since Thorin and Frerin debuted their “Brothers Durin” show to the world. In the years since Thorin had taken back the stage, with Frerin by his side, he watched his little one man show grow to a behemoth of epic proportions. What had been just the two of them singing original scores and dancing for audiences blossomed into opening their own production company. It started with more live performances on stage, then radio shows, then interviews and shows on live television. Then one night, when they were interviewing with Ed Harrison the host asked them, “what’s next for such rising stars such as yourselves?”

Thorin didn’t want to say what he really thought, which was: _nothing, I like my small time show, thank you very much_. Frerin took care of most of the talking anyway, being more interested in working with the people. So Frerin answered and what he said had shocked Thorin nearly out of his chair.

“We’re thinking of opening our own production label,” he said with a cool smile.

Thorin hadn’t been able to pay attention much longer after that, livid with what his brother had gone and done. He had said something huge, without consulting him, and made vague promises that he wasn’t sure they could keep. They argued after the show for hours until Frerin eventually wore him down, pleading with him to see reason and to at least look at his proposal. And damn him, it was a good one. In the end, Thorin gave in, as always.

Since it’s conception, _Erebor Productions_ produced three musicals and sponsored countless smaller acts to a larger audience. Every time Thorin wanted to put his foot down and say no more, that things were getting out of hand, that he didn’t want to bring anymore acts on, Frerin would mock-wince and clutch his long-healed arm. He’d bat his puppy eyes at his older brother and pout, tugging at his heart strings and Thorin would cave. Eventually, Thorin stopped trying to keep the company from growing and took hold of the reins in directing the company, himself. After all, if he could do it with over a hundred men at wartime, how hard could it be with less than a hundred actors, dancers and musicians who actually wanted to be there?

Turns out, incredibly hard.

When he wasn’t performing, rehearsing, or signing new acts, he was hounding Frerin about paperwork and potential acts, schedules and deadlines. He figured if he was going to be badgered into business with his brother then Frerin better accept the blame for him being so grumpy all the time. It was his fault, after all. Even if he enjoyed most of the particulars of running _Erebor Productions_ , including his own performances, that didn’t mean that it wasn’t stressful. If he didn’t have a minute to himself, then neither would Frerin.

For everything that they couldn’t handle, the brothers hired a man named Balin. He was the most efficient personal assistant anyone could ever hope for. He made sure their suits were pressed and ready for them after rehearsals and shows, before interviews, made sure plane and train tickets were booked, hotel rooms reserved, important meetings scheduled, and everything else in between. He was a godsend and Thorin treasured his efficiency and his wisdom.

It was a week before Christmas and three weeks before the debut of a new show in New York City, and Thorin was just about ready for his week of self imposed rest. He had only one standing appointment and it was with Ed Harrison to be interviewed on his show about their upcoming musical _An Unexpected Journey_. But after that, he was giving himself a small vacation to sit back and enjoy nothing over Christmas. He and Frerin would have a nice small dinner with their family and enjoy some peace and quiet. Maybe he’d get a chance to nap. Just the thought of it made him smile in anticipation.

He sought out Balin to make sure that he had gotten them train tickets to New York so that they could start enjoying their vacation. “Balin, my friend, tell me you have good news.”

“Aye, Thorin, I do.” He smiled up at him briefly before looking back down at his trusty clipboard that held everything important to Thorin, Erebor, and just about everything else. “I managed to get you and your brother two tickets and the last available state room. Two nice cots and attached water closet. You leave at two o’clock this afternoon and should be in New York by four in the afternoon tomorrow.”

“Balin, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Yes I am,” Balin replied confidently. “Tickets should be delivered here soon. I’ll have them sent to your dressing room when they get here.”

“Excellent, thank you Balin.”

“Any time, Thorin.” He tucked his clipboard under his arm and asked, “ready for the Ed Harrison show in a few days?”

“Are you kidding? It’s going to be a perfect to break up my vacation of inactivity. And a great way to promote the new show. Everyone and their mother watches the Ed Harrison show, it’ll be hard to miss it.”

“Indeed,” Balin agreed.

They started walking towards Thorin and Frerin’s shared dressing room when Frerin called out to Thorin. “Thorin! Come here a second!”

Thorin turned to see Frerin standing next to two pretty, dancers in full costume, one redhead and one blonde, both smiling excessively. He should have expected some desperate attempt from Frerin to find him a girlfriend or boyfriend or anything that could be construed as a romantic partner right before they left for New York. He had been running young, available, pretty things by him for months in a sick attempt to get him settled with someone and Thorin was growing tired of it. He had tried the dating thing and found it to be more trouble than it was worth. Everyone wanted something, most things, besides love and a family and it just depressed him.

He wanted none of it.

He sighed a resigned breath and walked over to where his brother stood, readying himself to stop whatever Frerin had begun.

“Thorin, you remember Rita,” he gestured to the redhead dressed in pink.

Thorin smiled politely and shook her hand. “Of course, from the chorus line,” he said.

“That’s right,” she confirmed happily.

“And this is her friend Doris,” Frerin said, gesturing to the blonde dressed in green.

“How do you do,” Thorin asked, shaking her hand in greeting.

“Mutual, I’m sure,” she said in the most obnoxious voice Thorin could have ever imagined. High, nasal, awful. _Absolutely not_ , Thorin vowed silently.

Frerin turned a hopeful smile on him and said, “I was hoping that we could go and grab lunch with them on their break, you know, before our train to New York.”

Thorin returned an easy smile on his brother, ready with the perfect excuse. “I’m sorry, Frerin but I can’t and neither can you.”

“Oh?”

“We have plans already.”

“With who,” Frerin asked, arms crossed.

“We’ve been asked to see an act. To see if we’ll sign them. Very important,” Thorin assured. He nodded to each of the ladies and bid them a good afternoon before turning on his heel and heading for the safety of his dressing room.

Frerin was hot on his heels and the second the door closed behind them he started in on Thorin. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you, brother,” he said, clearly unhappy.

“I could say the same to you,” Thorin told him as he started to undress. He unbuttoned his show jacket and hung it on its hanger. “For months now you’ve been flinging people at me like it’s your job, trying to entangle me with someone.” He listed off on his fingers, “thin, fat, tall, short, light, dark, man, woman, it doesn’t matter. As long as they’re pretty and still breathing, you run them at me. I’m tired of it.”

“I’m only doing it for your own good,” Frerin assured, hanging up his own jacket.

“What?”

“That’s right,” Frerin told him, undoing his bow tie. “You’re a lonely, miserable man.”

“Now wait just one second-”

“And you’re unhappy, too,” Frerin insisted. “And when you’re unhappy, I’m unhappy. Afterall, how else am I supposed to show such gratitude for all you’ve done for me? Ever since that day,” Frerin said, grabbing his arm, his pout already in place.

“Don’t start that again, with your phony arm routine,” Thorin said, wagging a finger at him. “You’ve done nothing but feel the need to run my life ever since you saved it. Dragging me into all your schemes, kicking and screaming, urging, pushing and shoving all the way. And when all that doesn’t work, you grab your arm and point those big cow eyes at me and I cave and go along.”

Frerin sniffed and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Well...I never did ask for gratitude,” he said softly.

“Well you got it, nonetheless,” Thorin spat, dropping his own shirt into a laundry bin. “Thank you, my dearest brother Frerin, my only brother, thank Mahal, for shoving your big, bony arm into my back and out of danger and for saving my life. Now, please, will you leave me be and let me live the remainder of it in peace!”

“No,” Frerin said, smiling a patient smile at him.

“No? And why not?”

“Because you’re a lonely, miserable, old man and I feel for you.”

Thorin shook his head, snatching up a clean shirt from the pile. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m very happy. I have everything in life I’ve ever wanted and then some. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

“That still leaves you missing just one thing, Thorin.”

“And what’s that,” Thorin asked, already knowing what his brother would say.

“A partner. Someone to love you and make you happy.”

Thorin frowned and walked past him to button up his shirt in the mirror. “I’ll get around to it some day.”

“Famous last words,” Frerin said snidely. He walked up behind him, their eyes meeting in the mirror. “My dear, big brother, when you get around to getting something, what’s left of you to be gotten won’t be worth getting.”

Thorin turned his head to look at him, frown deepening. “I’m not sure if I should be insulted or not.” He walked over to his half packed suitcase and pulled out a fresh pair of pants and jammed his legs into them. “What’s in all this for you? What do you get out of trying to set me up with every person you see?”

“Why would there be anything in it for me,” Frerin asked innocently.

“Because every little thing you do has a little something in it for you. As nice as you are, Frerin, you’re no philanthropist, so out with it,” he gestured to him with a flick of his wrist, “what’s the catch?”

Frerin leveled a stern look at him and folded his arms. “Well, since you asked so directly. You know, ever since we became producers you’ve gone berserk with work and you’re dragging me along with it.” Thorin opened his mouth to reply but Frerin pointed a finger at him, raising his voice to cut off his chance to reply. “And the sad thing is you like it! You like working yourself to the bone, cranking out paperwork night after night, show after show, running you and me both ragged.”

Thorin sputtered, “but-But the company was your idea!”

“Yes it was, but I didn’t know I’d be making a monster! And since the day we opened the company I haven’t had a moment’s peace to myself!” He threw his hands up in the air and said, “Thorin, you’ve got to learn to enjoy the little things in life.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it, hmm? Want me to cut you a little slack? Give you a little more time off? Quit the “Brother Act”?”

Frerin was quick to dispel him of that. “No! No, no. What I want from you is to just take a breath. Get married. Have nine kids or nine dogs and enjoy them. And even if you only enjoy each of them for five minutes a day, that’s forty five minutes combined that I can have to myself.”

Thorin sniffed, smiling despite himself. “And you think the kind of people you’ve been throwing my way are the kind to settle, do you?”

Frerin shrugged, looking at his own mirror to comb his hair. “There have been some nice ones.” Thorin thought of the obnoxious blonde from minutes ago and snorted. Frerin sighed, dropping the comb on his dresser. “Like you’ve been so successful at picking them yourself?”

Thorin sat in his chair, letting loose a sigh of his own. “Look, Frerin, you and I both know that most people in this business aren’t looking for love. They’re young, ambitious, looking for a few laughs and a good time. They’re not here looking to settle down and have babies or dogs or any other manner of life altering things.”

Frerin looked at him, a touch of sadness in his eyes, “Thorin-”

“Now, don’t give me that look.” Thorin resolutely tied his shoes and didn’t look at his brother while he spoke. “When the right guy or gal comes along then I’ll know it.” He finally looked up into his brother’s eyes and smiled. “Then we’ll see about getting you your forty five minutes a day. Is that going to be enough for you?”

Frerin chuckled and clapped him on the back. “If it isn’t I’ll let you know.”

They both laughed and straightened themselves in the mirror, tucking in shirts and fixing their ties. A knock sounded on the door and Thorin called out, “come in.”

Balin’s head popped in the door and said, “tickets are here, sir.” He walked in and waved the tickets so Thorin could see them in the mirror. “State room A, second car.”

“Excellent, thank you,” Thorin told him. “Grab those, would you, Frerin?” Frerin took the tickets and stuck them inside his still hanging jacket pocket. “When we’re done over at The Prancing Pony then we’ll go straight to the station.”

“That reminds me. What kind of an act are we seeing?”

“A kind of traveling minstrel show.”

“We don’t need a traveling minstrel show. What’ve you got us wasting our time for?” He shook his finger at him, “you know we could be having lunch with two lovely ladies instead.”

“Yes, I know, but we got a letter from Bombur. You remember Bombur, right? Used to run the mess back in the army. Well, his brother and a friend have an act that he’d like us to see.”

“Are you kidding me? “Big, fat, Bombur”? He’s calling in a favor? He was nice enough and he made a mean casserole but why is he sending us in?”

“I couldn’t tell you. Maybe it’s better than we think.”

Frerin sighed, hands firmly placed on his hips. “Thorin, give me one good reason why we’re doing this?”

 _Keeps your match-making mitts off my love life_ , Thorin thought sarcastically. “Let’s just say, we’re doing it for a pal in the army.”

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Bilbo was trying to tame his curls into something a touch less chaotic when a knock came at the door to their small room. “Who is it,” he called.

“It’s Novello,” the voice called and Bilbo motioned to Bofur to open the door. Bofur opened the door and let in an excited and smiling Novella. “Boys, I got great news for you.”

“Oh,” Bofur said, grinning. “What’s the good news, then?"

“The Durin Brothers are in the audience, they’ve come to see your act.”

Bilbo gasped, “the Durin Brothers? Here to see us?” His eyes squinted at Bofur skeptically, “why would they come to see us?”

“They said they heard from your brother,” Novello said helpfully, pointing to Bofur. “Said, that Bombur wrote to them and told them of your show and how he wanted them to come see it.”

“Imagine that,” Bilbo said dryly.

“Imagine that,” Bofur echoed, innocently. “Such a nice brother, I’ve got.” He showed Novello out, thanking him for telling them, before he elbowed Bilbo away from the mirror as he preened his bushy mustache. “Bombur’s a hoot, ain’t he?”

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed cynically. “It’s rather convenient that not two weeks after you hear that the Durin Brothers are in town that they hear from their old pal in the army.”

Bofur shrugged. “Maybe Bombur was just keeping up with his correspondence. He knew when we were in town. Maybe he wrote to keep in touch with his brothers in arms and just mentioned we were here.”

“Or maybe,” Bilbo said, fixing his suspenders to his pants, “you took advantage of Bombur’s connections and wrote in his place.”

Bofur shrugged. “Pot-ay-to, po-tah-to,” he said, grinning in the mirror.

“Bofur,” Bilbo groaned, smacking him on the back of the head, knocking his hat askew. “That’s not right of you, using your brother like that.”

“But it got them here, didn’t it? And who knows, maybe they’ll sign us!”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Bilbo warned.

“Don’t be such a sourpuss,” Bofur countered. “You’re the one who wanted to become more than a one night act, singing for tips.”

“Not like this, I didn’t.”

“Well, sometimes fate needs a little push,” Bofur said with a smile, gently shoving Bilbo towards the door.

“Yeah, little push. You’ll push us right out the door and out of show business if you go pushing and shoving the wrong people.”

“Seriously, Bilbo, don’t be so skeptical. And stop thinking you always have to clean up after me, have some faith,” he said petulantly.

“Well, if somebody didn’t need someone watching them all the time to keep them out of trouble then maybe I wouldn’t have to.” He crossed his arms and huffed, shaking his head. “No matter, what’s done is done and we’ll just have to make the best of it.”

Bofur chuckled, “you sound as if you’re walking to your doom. Cheer up, I hear they’re cute. Maybe one of them will catch your eye.”

Bilbo snorted. “Oh yeah? Which one?”

“Does it matter? They’re both rich and handsome. Couldn’t go wrong with either. Even if the rumors exaggerate their handsomeness.”

Bilbo laughed, clutching his belly. “Come on, you git. The show must go on and all that rot.”

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Thorin’s eyes wandered around the pub, The Prancing Pony, while they waited for the show to begin. It was a cozy place, all dark woods and brass, charming stained glass windows, and entirely unlike the other clubs and bars that he usually visited while he was in Florida. Most of them were white and pastel, bright and tropical, pandering to the vacationer population looking for a drop of the caribbean without the passport.

He and Frerin had each ordered a pint and made small talk until they heard the leader of the small band announce the next act.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, for your pleasure this afternoon, Baggins and Ri!”

The brothers clapped along with the rest of them, watching as two men dressed like they had stepped out of a fairytale of yore. One dressed in a kilt and an awfully memorable hat, all dark and charming with a big smile. The other one, shorter with honey hair and round cheeks, dressed in green cotton pants and white shirt with suspenders and bare feet. Thorin felt his mouth go dry at the sight of the blond, soft looking hair that dared you to reach out and feel, and eyes so strikingly blue. Even from afar he could tell that there was a fire burning in him, the confidence he exuded intoxicating.

The men bowed, smiling at the audience introducing themselves.

“Hello all, good afternoon,” the shorter one called out. “I’m Bilbo Baggins, this is my partner in crime, Bofur Ri,” he gestured to Bofur who waved, as the crowd applauded briefly. “We’ll jump right into the good stuff with a good ol’ classic “The Drunken Scotsman”.”

The crowd cheered once more and then once they settled, Bilbo started the song, clapping his and stomping one foot to keep time.

 

 _“A Scotsman clad in kilt left the bar one evening fair_  
_And one could tell by how he walked that he'd drunk more than his share_  
_He stumbled on until he could no longer keep his feet_  
 _Then staggered off into the grass to sleep beside the street"_  


Together, he and Bofur sang the chorus;

  
_“Ring ding diddle diddle i de o_  
Ring di diddle i o  
He staggered off into the grass to sleep beside the street" 

  
Bilbo took the lead again singing as Bofur skipped around the stage acting out the verse.

 

_“Later on two young and lovely girls just happened by,_   
_And one says to the other with a twinkle in her eye_   
_You see yon sleeping Scotsman so strong and handsome built_   
_I wonder if it's true what they don't wear beneath their kilt"_

  
A few people in the crowd giggled, a couple gasped in mock shock, covering their mouths to stifle giggles. The two men on staged smiled broadly, enjoying their tune. Bofur continued the pantomime of the two mischievous girls as Bilbo continued.

 

 _“They crept up on the sleeping Scotsman quiet as could be_  
Lifted up his kilt about an inch so they could see  
And there behold for them to view beneath his Scottish skirt  
Was nothing but what God had graced him with upon his birth"

 

Bofur did a little turn, making the kilt he wore swirl around his legs teasingly. Thorin chuckled into his fist and felt Frerin shift beside him. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one enjoying himself.

 

 _“They marveled for a moment then one said we'd best be gone_   
_But let's leave a present for our friend before we move along_  
 _As a gift they took a blue silk ribbon and they tied it in a bow_  
 _Around the bonnie star of the Scot's lifted kilt did show_

 _Ring ding diddle diddle i de o_  
_Ring di diddle i o doh_  
 _Around the bonnie star of the Scot's lifted kilt did show”_

 

Then Bofur stumbled to a pillar, pretending to answer nature’s call, leaning heavily into it as if intoxicated, much to the amusement of the audience.

 

 _“The Scotsman woke to nature's call and stumbled toward a trees_   
_Behind a bush he lifts his kilt and gawks at what he sees_  
 _Then in a startled voice he says to what's before his eyes”_

Then Bofur took over singing the last verse; "Lad, I don't where you've been but I see you won first prize!"

 

The crowd laughed, clapping at the joke. Even Thorin found the song funny and good humored and so clapped along. Together the pair sang the last verse, dancing around each other.

 

 _“Ring ding diddle diddle i de o_  
_Ring di diddle i o_  
He said, _"Lad, I don't know where you've been but I see you won first prize!"_

The audience clapped loudly and the pair took a bow. They next performed a version of “Nancy Whiskey”, Bilbo once again leading the song and tapping a tambourine and stomping his feet as Bofur performed a surprisingly intricate step dance. It was fast paced and made you want to get up and dance along with them. Thorin was entranced, loving the energy of the act more than he thought he ever would.

When the song ended Bofur announced to the crowd, “now that we’ve got your attention, we thought we’d slow it down just a touch. We’ll now sing a song about the mythical Smaug and the desolation he caused.” He stalked across the front row of the crowd gesturing like a proper story teller. “Imagine for a moment, if you will, a world where dragons soared across the skies, burning and ravaging everything in their path. Hoarding gold and jewels and causing chaos in their wake.”

Thorin was impressed with his storytelling, sucked in and not daring to look away.

Bilbo spoke then, adding to the story. “Now imagine, you’re a great, mighty king whose empire, whose home, has been destroyed and taken over by the unfeeling beast Smaug. A king without a throne, trying to reclaim your homeland from the terrible wyrm. Ready to do anything and everything it takes to bring your people home and bring peace to your land.”

The conviction in Bilbo’s voice made his throat catch. He could see the picture they painted, a charred wasteland as a kingdom falls into embers behind running refugees. The pain, the suffering, the hopelessness of endless fear and anger. Suddenly he was the displaced king they spoke of, leading his men to battle against a faceless enemy. He had been there in the war, he had done the same, it was all too easy to imagine it was him who stood as the only hope of an empire, not just a single man in a faceless army.

“Now, with that image in your mind,” Bilbo said calmly as the two met in the center of the stage, side by side. “I want you to close your eyes and let your mind paint the picture clearly as the words take you to a distant land.”

Thorin obeyed, closing his eyes, ready to hear it all.

Bilbo began it, of course;

 

 _“Oh, misty eye of the mountain below_  
_Keep careful watch of my brothers’ souls_  
 _And should the sky be filled with fire and smoke_  
 _Keep watching over Durin’s sons_

 

Thorin’s breath caught for a moment. They were singing about his family, his long dead ancestor, the legend of Durin the Deathless. The great king that his family name had supposedly descended from, unfairly uprooted from his throne and foisted from his land, along with his people, by Smaug the Terrible. Modern history called him a man but legend said it was a dragon who made Durin’s folk wanderers. The legend, nearly as old as the King Arthur tales, was one shrouded in mystery and uncertainty.

He shivered as Bofur and Bilbo hummed for a turn before the next verse. A violin from the band behind them started a low, mournful note and then the two sang together;

 

 _“If this is to end in fire_  
_Then we should all burn together_  
 _Watch the flames climb high into the night_  
 _Calling out father, oh_  
 _Stand by and we will_  
 _Watch the flames burn auburn on_  
 _The mountain side_

 

Frerin leaned over and whispered to Thorin as the song continued. “It’s chilling to hear about your supposed family history in a tavern, isn’t it?”

“Chilling,” Thorin agreed. His eyes opened then, locking directly on Bilbo who seemed to be lost in the emotion of the song. His body swayed, fists clasping and opening in time with the sorrow of the violin, eyes screwed shut as he sang. He could imagine Bilbo being a bard from ancient times, rallying the troops with songs of bravery and of glory, consoling them afterwards with gentle words of prayer and melancholy. His words raised goosebumps along Thorin’s flesh and he found himself incapable of looking away.

 

 _“Now I see fire Inside the mountain I see fire_  
_Burning the trees_  
_And I see fire_  
 _Hollowing souls_  
 _I see fire Blood in the breeze_  
 _And I hope that you remember me_

 

Thorin could tell already that he would never be able to forget the sight before him. Bofur’s voice was strong, clear, and built a solid foundation for the song. But Bilbo’s voice had a sweetness to it that complimented the tone of the song, turning it from a record of an event to an emotional dirge that brought tears to your eyes. He shivered, the pleasure of Bilbo’s voice ringing throughout his body. He could clearly see the struggle of the king of legend, fighting for his people with all his might and it made his palms sweat and his heart beat harder. The image was haunting. Thorin leaned on the table, chin on his folded hands and eyes firmly plastered to Bilbo as the song climbed higher in pace, rushing to it’s climax until it finally ended, the violin singing a final sweet note.

The applause was deafening.

Thorin and Frerin stood, thoroughly impressed with the show they had just seen. The two men onstage took a bow. Bofur urged the crowd to quiet and then he spoke. “It’s clear from the applause that we did the song justice.” Some of the crowd laughed and Bilbo smiled, gently shoving Bofur for his haughty comment. “We’ll be back after a short break. In the meantime, get yourself a drink, I hear the mead here is top notch!” Without further ado, the men walked offstage, waving to the audience, applause following them backstage.

Thorin stared after them even after the stage emptied. There was no doubt they both had a talent for entertaining. Bofur was charming and Thorin appreciated his good humor. But Bilbo had the kind of energy of a deep river, calm on the surface but emotion running swift and deep. There was passion, hidden just below the surface, he could tell just from their last song, carefully metered out for the best effect. It was calculating and yet captivating. It had Thorin wondering what it would take to break composure like that. Without looking away from the stage door, he raised his mug to his lips and took a long swallow of ale, his mouth suddenly dry.

Frerin cleared his throat, breaking his reverie. “That was a good opening,” he commented innocently.

“Yes,” Thorin replied, still unable to put into words all he saw.

“Good looking, too,” Frerin said, a laugh in his words.

Thorin frowned and looked at his brother out of the corner of his eye. “Whatever you’re thinking, keep it to yourself. We are not here to get dates.” _No matter how intriguing Bilbo Baggins may be_ , he added silently.

“But I thought we were here to look at a possible signing,” Frerin said in a mocking tone, clearly enjoying poking fun at Thorin. “To do that we’d certainly need to exchange phone numbers.” He waggled his eyebrows at his brother and Thorin groaned heavily, covering his eyes with his hand.

“You’re a nuisance,” Thorin grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's links to the songs I took inspiration from for the Baggins and Ri set!
> 
> "The Drunk Scotsman" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZ35SOU9HTM
> 
> "Nancy Whiskey" by Gaelic Storm - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R0TBwFLW4GY
> 
> "I See Fire" originally by Ed Sheeran, cover performed by Peter Hollens and Taylor Davis - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6vvDCFU3RIo
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter and the accompanying songs!


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo and Bofur changed quickly so they could take a few moments talking with the men who made a special trip to see them. Dressed in their more proper suits and ties, they weaved their way to the Durins’ table to meet them properly.

When they approached the table both men stood to greet them. Bilbo smiled at them politely and started off the conversation. “Hello, gentlemen, may we intrude for a moment,” Bilbo asked politely.

“It would be a pleasure,” Frerin said, reaching out a hand to shake. “I’m Frerin Durin and this is my brother, Thorin.”

Bilbo moved to shake Thorin’s hand while Bofur shook Frerin’s and greeted them, “it’s a pleasure.” Thorin nodded but said nothing. _That doesn’t bode well_ , Bilbo thought. Frerin offered them the empty seats at their table and Bofur and Bilbo sat, nervous for sitting so close to such accomplished men. Bilbo introduced them. “Well, as you know, I’m Bilbo Baggins and this is Bofur Ri.”

Bofur interrupted, asking them without waiting for any prompts, “what do you think of the show so far?”

The brothers shared a look that was indecipherable to Bilbo and he had to fight to keep a frown from forming on his lips. A second later Frerin spoke, smiling. “We loved it, truly. Particularly your rendition of “I See Fire”. Is that part of your regular repertoire or did you do that special for us tonight?”

Bilbo swallowed. _Of course they would know the legend. It’s their name after all_. “It’s part of our regular show,” he confirmed. “Did we do your ancestors proud,” he asked with a smile that conveyed more confidence than he felt.

“It was haunting,” Thorin said softly. He eyes bored into him, searching for something that Bilbo couldn’t guess at.

He cleared his throat and said, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was intended as one,” Thorin said gruffly.

A moment of strained silence stretched before Frerin cleared his throat, taking control of the conversation. “You know,” Frerin said, drawing Bilbo’s attention. “Bombur never told us that he had a brother with a talent for step dance and song.” Bilbo pursed his lips, wanting in equal measure to tell them the truth and to keep it to himself Bofur’s part in the letter.

“Bombur’s a wonderful brother,” Bofur said proudly. “Always looking out for his brothers even with his that big brood of children of his.” Frerin’s eyes went so comically wide that Bilbo had to hide his laugh in a cough.

“Big Belly Bombur got married? Had kids?”

Bofur nodded, smiling. “Aye, a lovely woman named Gemma. Last count, he’s had four. Boy, girl, and Gemma just popped out a pair of twin boys.” He dug into his pocket to get his wallet. He flipped open the billfold to show them the newest picture of the whole Ri family. The brothers held the photo between them, eyebrows knit in what could only be described as confusion.

Frerin exclaimed, “holy cow! Bombur got himself a looker!”

“Oh yes, Gemma’s a beauty. Can’t cook to save her life, though. Bombur’s taken over the kitchen. About to open a restaurant, something to hand down to his wee ones.” Frerin handed Bofur his photo back and Bofur put it away asking them, “I must ask, do you have any advice for the show?”

Thorin spoke then, “I see no need for improvement. You entertain very well.”

Bilbo blinked at him. Though his face was still and expressionless, his eyes remained intensely on him and his voice held a hint of respect. He was sending so many conflicting signals that he couldn’t tell if Thorin was being sincere or facetious. He was about to say his thanks to the compliment, however it was meant, when Bofur started again.

“Oh, there must be something. Men of your caliber must have lots of opinions. Is the kilt too much? Should Bilbo try to tame that mane of his or maybe get a pair of snazzy boots instead of going barefoot?”

Without breaking his gaze, Thorin shook his head. “Not at all. I wouldn’t change a thing.” The following silence was less awkward as the one before, but it held a kind of charged energy that had Bilbo shifting in his seat. It almost felt as if Thorin had wanted to say more, to elaborate, but couldn’t seem to find the words. Bilbo wasn’t about to help him, sure that his input wouldn’t be welcome. No one liked to have words put in their mouth, after all.

Once again, sensing the thin ice of the conversation, Frerin cleared his throat to break it. “Bofur, I see our mugs are a little dry. Care to join me at the bar? My treat, for such a memorable performance.”

Bofur smiled at him, “I’d be delighted.”

 _Traitor_ , Bilbo internally groused. _Leaving me alone with a man who looks like he’d both throttle and kiss me and I can’t figure out which. Some friend you turned out to be._ The two men shifted awkwardly, trying to find a point to stare at that wasn’t each other, their hands, or the bar where Frerin and Bofur seemed to be getting along splendidly. After a long pause Bilbo spoke.

“Have you enjoyed your stay in Miami?”

“Very much. It’s a charming city.”

Bilbo nodded. “I agree. We’ve just been here a couple weeks, though. Haven’t had much time to explore, what with our daily shows.”

“Bombur didn’t tell us how long you planned to stay in his letter.”

“Ah, yes. The letter,” Bilbo shifted uncomfortably.

“Did you know that he wrote to us,” Thorin asked, eyebrow crooked in questioning.

“Well, you see...the thing is,” Bilbo said slowly, not wanting to outright lie and not wanting to seem like he was overreaching. “Bombur didn’t exactly write the letter.”

“Exactly?,” Thorin asked dubiously.

“Right, uhm,” Bilbo scratched the back of his head nervously. “Bofur wrote the letter. He was hoping to get your attention and figured using Bombur’s name would do it. It was a bit of a surprise to me when Novello told us you had come to see us.” He lowered his head to inspect the button on his cuff. “Clearly, his letter worked.”

“Hmph, typical,” Thorin said gruffly, a humorless smirk on his lips.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes at him, not liking Thorin’s tone one bit. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s just the type thing I expect of people in this business. Everyone has an angle and tries to work it to their advantage.” Thorin drained the tiny portion of beer left in his mug. “No hard feelings.”

Bilbo frowned, “nor should there be. Bofur was just trying to get our act to go further than the bars and small clubs that we’ve been playing. Maybe get a little advice from seasoned professionals. He didn’t mean any harm.”

“And none is meant in return, I assure you,” Thorin said civilly. “Bofur had a card to play and he did and now we’re here, just as he intended, and we’re having a nice time. No sense in getting your feathers ruffled just because you’ve outed your game.”

“There is no game,” Bilbo insisted, leaning over on the table to speak lower, unwilling for the other patrons to hear their squabble. Thorin leaned in just as close, their faces inches apart.

“There’s always a game,” Thorin told him in a low voice. “That’s show business, better get used to it if you want to go as far as you say you do.”

Bilbo sniffed in annoyance. Thorin’s unmasked cynicism about the industry didn’t sit well with him. He felt insulted that Thorin would think so low of them, even if Bofur did play an underhanded card. “Mister Durin, since our chances of conversing after this evening are extremely remote, I suggest that we agree to disagree and drop the subject. I don’t see the need to continue arguing if you don’t.”

Thorin blinked at him. “As you wish.”

“Excellent.” He pointed to the house band who were playing a set of soft background music, and the few couples dancing on the floor. “Nice band, isn’t it.”

A server came by with a tray of drinks for them and set them down, telling them they came from the gentlemen at the bar. Bilbo looked over to see Bofur and Frerin raising their mugs to them in salute. It seemed almost conspiratory and it irked him immensely. He frowned, not knowing what Bofur was saying or doing with Frerin but he was sure he wouldn’t like it.

Thorin seemed to be in agreement as his eyes were drawn as well to the two men at the bar. He took a sip of his drink and said, “indeed.”

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

“Look at them,” Frerin said, smiling over his mug. “Might be finding yourself a best man in a wedding soon.”

Bofur chuckled, shrugging. “I don’t mind if you don’t. You brother seems like quite a character.”

Frerin laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “My brother is an acquired taste, I’ll grant you.” He took a sip of his beer and said, “shame we’re leaving town later today. He looks like he’s enjoying himself.”

“It’s just as well, we’re leaving tomorrow, anyway.”

“Oh,” Frerin asked, curious. “Where are you headed?”

“Vermont. We’ve got a booking for a ski lodge over the holidays to play the floor show.”

“Sounds like a fun, productive way to spend the holiday.”

Bofur leveled him with an appreciative eye and Frerin could feel his ears grow warm. “Few things are as spectacular as a landscape of, crisp, fresh snow for Christmas. Vermont is lovely this time of year.” He licked his lips and took a sip of his beer, suggestion written in his eyes.

Frerin choked down a swallow of beer, unused to such obvious but unspoken interest. “Yes, I hear that Vermont is lovely this time of year.”

Bofur chuckled, “stealing my words I see.”

“Erm-”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Bofur assured, placing his hand on Frerin’s comfortingly. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

 _Now who’s stealing words_ , Frerin thought, thinking back to their conversation at the table. If only he could get his mouth to cooperate. He could feel his ears grow warm and with his free hand he took a swallow of beer. “Perhaps we should order a round for the happy couple over there,” he gestured with his mug.

Bofur tossed a casual look over his shoulder, not bothering to remove his hand. He returned his gaze to Frerin “They do look like they’re in need of a little social lubrication.” He winked and Frerin could feel his heart hammer just a touch harder in his chest.

Frerin ordered a round of drinks for the men at the table all the while extremely aware of Bofur’s hand over his. Neither of them made an effort to move and Frerin was hard pressed to find a reason to. He also had a hard time stringing two thoughts together that went further than _Bofur-hand-charming-wink-oh god!_.

Bofur took the lead and Frerin felt himself immensely grateful. “I want you to know how much we appreciate you coming. We know you didn’t have to.”

“N-not at all,” Frerin insisted. “We were happy to come. You’re very talented.”

“Why thank you,” Bofur said with a grin. “It’s hard work, learning how to step dance without your kilt revealing your secrets.”

“Secrets?”

Bofur laughed, teeth peeking out from his lips. “Maybe I’ll share them sometime.”

Frerin didn’t get a chance to reply to Bofur’s enticing, and frankly unnerving, comment.

“Bofur, it’s time we’ve changed for the last set,” Bilbo said behind Frerin, making him jump. “Oh, sorry, did I scare you?”

Frerin shook his head quickly, “no, no! Just, wasn’t expecting you.”

Bofur giggled and Bilbo reached out to take Bofur’s hand and lead him away towards backstage. Then Novello called out their names and all three of them turned their heads to see a frantic bar owner bee-lining his way towards them.

“What’s the matter, Novello,” Bilbo asked.

“There’s a sheriff waiting in my office. He’s here looking to arrest you, two,” he said, face full of worry.

Frerin sobered immediately. “What’s this, now?”

Bilbo and Bofur groaned in unison and Bofur explained, “the landlord who rented us our hotel room is claiming we burnt a hole in the carpet and he’s trying to stick us with a bill for two hundred dollars.”

Frerin nodded in understanding. “Hmph, landlords, money grubbing thieves.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Bilbo said sharply. “It doesn’t help that we happened to sneak our things out of the room this morning so as to avoid him.”

“But what do we do now,” Bofur asked, looking much less amused than he did ten seconds previous.

Frerin leapt into action, “both of you, go get your things, Thorin and I will take care of this. We like to take care of our friends.”

Bilbo eyed him shrewdly. “But you don’t know us. We’re practically strangers.”

“We like to take care of them, too,” Frerin assured.

He crossed his arms, heedless of the small amount of time they had before a very possible trip to jail. “What’s in it for you.”

Frerin sent him a very calm, collected look and placed a hand over his heart in sincerity. “Forty-five minutes, all to myself.” He shoved the two of them off towards the stage door. “Now, go! We’ll be right behind you with a plan.” He turned quickly and told Novello to stall the sheriff by telling him that he had to wait until Bilbo and Bofur had finished their performance. With a solid foundation of a plan, Frerin was ready for action. He watched them go, making sure they were safely backstage before he rushed over to Thorin.

“Thorin, drop the mug, the lads are in trouble and we’ve got to help them.”

Thorin rose immediately, “what kind of trouble.”

“I’ll explain on our way to their dressing room.” Frerin filled him in and by the time he finished they were steps outside the dressing room and Thorin was not pleased.

“We could just pay him off,” Thorin offered. “Keeps them out of the long arm of the law and the landlord won’t go looking for further compensation.”

“What, and leave him unchecked so he can do it to more unsuspecting people? Not on my watch,” Frerin vowed. “Plus, don’t you like my idea? You always said you missed the intimacy of the small venue.”

Thorin rolled his eyes, not entirely thrilled to be helping someone who had used underhanded tactics to get his attention. “Just give me one good reason why we’re doing this?”

Frerin smiled at him predatorily. “Let’s just say we’re doing it for a pal in the army.”

“I suppose I should have expected that,” Thorin said, defeated. “Let’s get this over with then, shall we?”


	4. Chapter 4

As per part of the plan, Thorin went to procure the performers a cab while Frerin hastily helped them pack.

“Once the cab shows up you two head for the train station and head out of town.”

“But our tickets aren’t good until tomorrow,” Bilbo said, worry written on his face.

Frerin made a split second decision that he was sure would land him in a pile of trouble with Thorin but in the moment he didn’t care. “I’ve got two perfectly good tickets for you to use if you’d just quit worrying.” He pulled the tickets that were meant to have taken them to New York and handed them over to Bilbo.

Bilbo eyed them suspiciously. “Surely we can’t take your tickets? What would your brother think.”

Frerin lied through his teeth and said, “Bilbo, please, it was his idea! Don’t argue and just grab your things.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t think we’re working some kind of angle, here?”

“Bilbo, quit arguing with the man and just get your bags! I hear the cab coming around the corner,” Bofur shouted at him.

“Fine! Can’t blame me for wanting to know just what we’re getting ourselves into here.”

“Can’t be worse than what we’ve already been caught in with that landlord and the sheriff,” Bofur said hopefully. Suitcase in hand, he crossed the room over to Frerin and said in a serious tone, “we will pay you back for your generosity, I promise you.”

Frerin smiled gently at him. “No thank you’s or payback is necessary, I assure you. We’re happy to help.” A car horn honked outside their window from the alley and it spurred Frerin into action. “That’s your ride, boys.”

“But where can we reach you? We will want to repay you, eventually,” Bilbo insisted.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be in touch,” Frerin promised.

He helped them get their bags and themselves out the window and watched them throw themselves into the cab. He watched a moment to make sure they were out of sight and then sat back and waited for Thorin to arrive so they could put together the next part of their plan. He peeked his head out of the dressing room and saw Thorin talking with the nervous pub owner. He joined them and said, “well, they’re off.”

“The sheriff is in my office having a plate of our bangers and mash. That landlord is pushing real hard for an arrest. I can’t stall them much longer.”

“Don’t worry yourself,” Frerin repeated for the upteenth time that evening. He wondered if the phrase had any meaning left. “We’ve got an idea, just stall them a little longer to give the boys a head start.”

Novello dashed off and Thorin leveled his brother with an apprehensive look. “I’m not so sure about this, Frerin. This could be bad, we’re technically aiding in a crime, here.”

“Since when have you been a coward?”

Thorin bristled and Frerin felt a touch of pride. “It’s not cowardice to think of the consequences of one’s actions.” He sighed and looked at stared him down. After a moment he asked, “just give me one good reason why we’re doing this?”

Frerin smiled at him, words at the ready and Thorin seemed to know what was coming. In unison they reiterated, “we’re doing it for a pal in the army.”

Thorin relented and together they dashed off to the stage to get ready for their diversion. After talking with the band, who were shocked and honored to play for such big names as the Durin brothers, they agreed to change up their set. Not that it was a terribly taxing change. They decided to do their own version of “Nancy Whiskey” and step dance, hoping to throw off the sheriff and landlord and give Bilbo and Bofur a long head start towards escape. They took a minute to remove their suit jackets and ties, loosening ties and shirt cuffs, preparing for a flurry of activity.

When they walked on stage in place of Baggins and Ri, the crowd went wild, hooting and applauding the unexpected treat. They called for quiet and the band started playing their chosen song and together the brothers began their dance.

It had been awhile since Thorin had step danced but all too soon it came back to him. His feet seemed to remember the steps without much input from his brain. While he knew he would regret not stretching in the morning, he enjoyed himself immensely. Together the brothers sang out the song, smiles on their faces and the beat tapping out through their feet.

 

 _“Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy Whiskey_  
_Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy-O_  
 _Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy Whiskey_  
 _Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy-O_

_The more I kissed her, the more I knew her_   
_The more I loved her, the more she smiled_   
_I forgot my mother’s teaching_   
_Nancy soon had me beguiled"_

 

The brothers tore up the stage to the glee of their audience who clapped along, helping them keep time. In no time at all, the song was over and the brothers were panting with effort and laughing joyfully at their impromptu performance. They took a quick bow to acknowledge their audience and then hurried offstage so they could make a quick escape and evade the sheriff.

As they ran down the hall, snagging their jackets on the way to the exit, Frerin shot Thorin a mischievous grin. “Think we should stick around for an encore?”

“Only if you’d like to take your finishing bow in a jail cell,” Thorin scolded, even if he couldn’t keep his smile off his face.

Behind them they heard a door open and an unfamiliar voice shouting for them to stop. They ran harder, flying out the side door and racing around the building to catch a cab. They had just closed the doors and told the cabbie to head to their hotel where their baggage awaited when the sheriff rounded the building, shouting for them to stop. The cabbie paid no attention to the orders and floored the pedal, speeding away from the bar.

Breathless and laughing, the brothers leaned on each other, trying to catch their breath. After a few minutes Thorin was able choke out a few words. “You are going to be the death of me one day.”

Frerin chuckled, settling into his seat. “Seems only fitting, having saved your life and all.”

Thorin wiped his brow with a handkerchief, sucking in a lungful of air. “From now on, can we try to stay off the law’s bad side?”

“You mean you didn’t enjoy your mad dash from impending jail time?”

“I could have done without.”

“Spoilsport,” Frerin pouted mockingly. Thorin shoved him good naturedly and they were back to giggling.

By the time they reached their hotel to grab their things and check out, they barely had enough time to make it to their train before it left for New York. They urged their cabbie to drive faster, almost dangerously so, and the brakes squealed as they pulled into the station. Thorin tossed a few bills at him, thanking him and almost certainly over-tipping him, before nearly falling out of the cab in his haste to catch the train. When they got onto the platform they saw it starting to pull away.

“No, no, no, no,” Thorin muttered, feet pounding the pavement as he ran towards the train. “You better be running back there! I am not missing this train,” he shouted to Frerin.

“Yeah, yeah, quit your bitchin’ and keep running! We’ll make it!”

The brothers caught up to a car and jumped aboard before it gained speed and left the station. Once their feet were back on the solid ground of the train, they dropped their bags and sucked in lungfuls of air. Thorin lamented his age. Ten or fifteen years earlier, doing an impromptu performance and then running to catch a train wouldn’t have been so bad. But right then he felt every single year in his feet, his chest and his thighs. He felt his clothes sticking to him uncomfortably and longed for their cabin where he could wash up and lay down.

Once they got their breath under control, they walked through the cars to their designated car and began looking for their compartment. On the way they were confronted by a ticketmaster who greeted them kindly. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Could I see your tickets, please?”

“Absolutely,” Thorin told him politely. “Frerin, could you show him our tickets?”

Frerin blanched and ran a hand over his various pockets. His face grew further concerned when their tickets weren’t forthcoming from the depths of his pockets. After a thorough search he said, “I can’t find them.”

Thorin frowned, stomach sinking. “What?”

Frerin shrugged and looked apologetic. “I’m sorry, Thorin. They must’ve fallen out when we were running. I don’t have them.”

Thorin felt tears of exhaustion and frustration prickle at the corner of his eyes. His hopes for a bed dashed, his desire for a washing up would go unsatisfied. He was going to throttle his brother for all the trouble. But first, he’d make sure that Frerin paid for replacement tickets. “We seem to have lost our tickets. Are there any more available? Perhaps a cabin?”

The ticketmaster shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir, but every available room on this train is occupied. But if you’d like, you can purchase tickets and stay up all night in the club car.”

Thorin sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to have as restful an evening as he hoped, and agreed. “That will be just fine.” He kicked his brother’s shin to get his attention and said, “you lost the tickets, you can replace them. Fork it over. How much to New York?”

“Two tickets to New York is ninety seven dollars and twenty four cents.”

“How much more to Vermont,” Frerin asked.

Thorin blinked, confused and too exhausted to entertain his brother’s sudden interest in Vermont. “Ignore him, two tickets to New York, please.”

“But Thorin, think about it. It’s a winter wonderland up there. All that snow, the peace and calm.” He spoke to the ticketmaster then and asked again, “how much more to go to Vermont.”

“Who cares,” Thorin said, exasperated. “We’re going to New York.”

“Gentlemen, please, make up your mind so I can attend to the rest of the passengers.”

“Why would we want to go to Vermont? Who exactly is going to Vermont?”

“We should! All that crisp, fresh air, and the snow, the pine trees,” he mock-shivered and added, “it would do wonders for the constitution.”

Thorin scowled. “My constitution is just fine, Frerin.” He addressed the ticketmaster. “Sorry for the confusion. We’d like two tickets to New York.”

The man looked at them with a mixture of amusement and annoyance and said, “it’s still ninety seven dollars and twenty four cents.”

“You heard the man,” Thorin said sulkily. Frerin pouted, about to pull his “phony arm” routine but one look at Thorin’s scowl told him that he was too angry to be dissuaded. He sighed and paid the man for their tickets to New York. The ticketmaster directed them to the club car and they went towards it, Thorin grumbling as they went. “Can’t believe you lost the tickets. And how could every available space be occupied when we had our cabin reserved! What kind of nonsense is that!”

Frerin tried to soothe him. “I’m sure it’s just a holiday mix-up. You know how it is, Christmastime and all.”

When they came to a split in the car a large woman came by from the communal bathroom and they had to lean up against a door to avoid running into her. It swung open a little and two men voiced their displeasure at having been walked in on while they were changing. Thorin averted his eyes and walked off towards the club car. He sat down heavily in the booth.

“That was supposed to be our cabin,” he groused.

Frerin slid into the booth opposite of him looking contrite. “Don’t be upset, Thorin.”

“Why shouldn’t I be? We paid for our tickets twice, we lost our room and, to top it all off, we have to stay up all night!”

“Well, if we’d have been flying we would be staying up all night,” Frerin reasoned.

“But we’re not flying, we’re taking a train! A train on which we had beds! Beds in which two men are currently-” Recognition dawned on him mid-sentence and then he grew furious. The flash of blonde and blue flitted into his memory. His lips curled into a scowl and his eyes narrowed in anger. “Frerin. Did you give those two men from the pub our tickets?”

“Well-”

“You traitor! You have me dancing like a performing monkey and I almost lose my life trying to catch a train and you give our beds away to those two!”

“Calm down, Thorin,” Frerin tried unsuccessfully.

He stood, finger jabbing in the direction of their usurped cabin. “If I go down there and see Bilbo Baggins and Bofur Ri in our room I’m dragging them out by their ears and-”

“You guys have no idea how pleased we are to see you,” a voice from behind him stalled his tirade. “How can we ever thank you for helping us?”

Thorin turned to see Bofur grinning and walking quickly towards them. Thorin straightened and tried to put some calm into his expression.

Bilbo was right behind him, smiling shyly. “We wanted to come and thank you properly for giving up your tickets. You didn’t have to do that and we’re very grateful that you did.”

Thorin felt Frerin come up behind him and lay a hand on his shoulder. “Wasn’t there something that you wanted to say to them?”

Thorin swallowed, not expecting to have the anger flood out of him at the sight of Bilbo. His warm, grateful smile made him forget why he was upset. He cleared his throat into his fist and and said, “it was no trouble.” They stood there, uncertain as to where to go and Thorin gestured to the booth they had occupied and asked, “would you care to sit and have dinner with us?”

The pair smiled and agreed to join them. They each slid in first, Bofur on Frerin’s side and Bilbo on Thorin’s. When he joined Bilbo in the booth, Thorin could feel the heat from him even though there were several inches between them. The server came to get their orders, each of them ordering a sandwich and drink.

As they ate they talked of how they all came to be on the train together. Frerin and Thorin gave a brief account of their time in the army, glossing over their near death experience with a falling wall. Thorin spoke about his desire to perform and his satisfaction at having made a difference in the lives of others through art. Frerin passionately talked about their new musical, _An Unexpected Journey_. Bilbo told them about having met Bofur while they worked at a cocktail bar together. They bonded over their love of folk music and eventually joined forces and became a performing team.

They talked late into the evening, long after their dinner plates had been cleared. Eventually Thorin asked them, “so where are you headed?”

Bilbo licked his lips after taking a sip of lemonade. “Pinetree, Vermont. We’re playing a floorshow at the ski lodge there, the Green Door inn.”

Suddenly, Frerin’s insistence on going to Vermont made sense. He shot a look across the table at Frerin who was doing his best to not look back. “Vermont, you say,” he said cautiously. “Should be beautiful in Vermont this time of year, all that snow.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Frerin said innocently.

“The crisp, fresh air, the pine trees, the snow.” He continued staring down Frerin, daring him to argue against Thorin’s suspicions. “Just what we need, right?”

Bofur seemed oblivious to their standoff and said, “oh! Could you come up for a couple of days?”

Bilbo put a gentle hand on Thorin’s arm and added, “it would be wonderful to see a couple of friendly faces in the crowd.”

Thorin’s eyes dropped to the hand on his arm. He could feel Bilbo’s warmth seeping through the fabric to his arm. He wanted to hold that hand in his own, shocked at the notion. He didn’t go looking for encounters with anyone. Nor did he appreciate anyone looking for them with him. But yet, there he was, about to give in to Frerin yet again and he wasn’t even the main motivation. He looked up to see Bilbo smiling sweetly at him and he could feel his resolve crumbling. It didn’t matter that they had an interview scheduled or that they had family plans. He’d damn them all if he could just have Bilbo continue to smile at him like that. Then he turned his head back to Frerin who had subtly clutched his arm, making a small pout with his lips.

That’s all it took for him to cave.

He turned back to Bilbo and said, “Mister Baggins, I’ve got a little piece of advice for you. If you ever find yourself under a crumbling building and someone offers to carry you to safety don’t hesitate for one minute. Just shove him off and spit in his eye.”

Frerin hid a laugh in his coffee cup. Bilbo looked at him in confusion, eyebrow quirked. “What does that mean?”

Thorin smiled at him and said, “it means that we’re going to Vermont.”

“Excellent!” Bofur clapped his hands together and said, “I think this calls for a celebratory drink. My treat. As a thank you.”

“I think that’s a fine idea,” Frerin chimed in.

One drink turned into two, then three, and then Bilbo and Bofur decided to call it a night and head back to their cabin. Both Frerin and Thorin stood to let them out and watched them disappear into their little room. When the door closed Frerin shot a goofy-eyed grin at him and said, “they’re really something aren’t they?”

“Absolutely,” Thorin said, sliding back into his side of the booth. He slid all the way into Bilbo’s space, feeling the heat the man left behind. He stretched his legs out across the booth, not caring about the inherent rudeness. It was late and customers were unlikely to be coming in for a midnight snack. He closed his eyes, preparing to doze, the rocking of the train and the alcohol in his stomach making him sleepy.

Frerin interrupted his attempt at sleep. “That Bilbo’s a looker, isn’t he?”

Thorin opened one eye to look at him, not dignifying the comment with a response. Instead he tossed a balled up napkin at him and said, “good night, Frerin.”

Frerin chuckled lightly and stretched out in his own booth, saying his own good night before quieting down. The last image in Thorin’s head before he drifted off was Bilbo’s warm smile. He was hooked and there was nothing he could do about it.


	5. Chapter 5

After they took their leave for the evening, Bilbo and Bofur readied themselves for bed in their cabin.

“I’ll count that as a successful evening,” Bofur said conversationally to Bilbo.

Bilbo hummed noncommittally as he tugged on his shirt. “It was certainly a pleasant one. And not at all how I thought this evening would end.”

“Oh really,” Bofur asked, pulling on his pajama pants. “And how did you foresee this night ending?”

“Well, eight hours ago I would have said with us in our beds in the inn, readying ourselves to leave in the morning for Vermont. Five hours ago I would have said in a jail cell thanks to your bright idea of sneaking the bags out rather than just paying the man his ill gotten money.”

“You seemed to think it was a good idea at the time,” Bofur defended.

“That was before the sheriff got involved.” He ruffled his hair, scratching his scalp and yawning. “I didn’t think he’d actually go to the sheriff for two hundred measly bucks.”

“Then we’re both guilty of underestimating a swindler,” Bofur said with a smile. He dove into the bottom bunk and sighed into the pillow.

“Hey now wait just a minute!”

“Problem?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the shorter of the two of us,” Bilbo complained. “How am I to be getting in and out of that dratted top bunk?”

Bofur shrugged, eyes closed, utterly unconcerned with Bilbo’s height. He was too comfortable after a long day. “Perhaps that Thorin Durin could come to your rescue.”

The sudden and shocking weight of a pillow hitting him in the back of the head had him wide awake and sputtering. “What was that for,” he complained.

“For your utter lack of compassion for your shorter man. Now, if you insist on taking the space that should be rightfully mine-”

“Technically, this bed is rightfully the Durins’-”

Bilbo spoke louder, ignoring Bofur’s defense, “then the least you can do is give me a boost!”

Bofur rolled his eyes and swung his legs over the side so Bilbo could use his thighs as a step ladder and clamber into the top bunk. He shifted and rolled around for several minutes before finally settling. Bofur rolled onto his side and asked, “comfortable?”

“More comfortable than a jail cell.”

Bofur chuckled. After a few minutes he asked, “what do you think of those two? Truly?”

“I think they’re both talented in the show business. I’ve seen a couple of their shows on the television. Did you know that Thorin used to play the harp as a child?”

“No I didn’t,” Bofur admitted.

“And I like his singing voice. It’s deep and soothing.” After a moment he added, “and that Frerin is a looker. Don’t think I didn’t catch you sneaking glances at him tonight.”

“I’ll admit it. He’s put together quite nicely.” He smirked. He continued, teasing Bilbo, “Thorin’s got a nice form to him, too. Wouldn’t mind taking a peek beneath his kilt.”

“He doesn’t wear a kilt,” Bilbo spat back, annoyance clear in his voice.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. The man may have a wild streak in him, yet.” Out of nowhere, a pillow came down from above and smacked him squarely on the nose. “Mahal above, Bilbo! Why?!”

“Because you’re a menace and I’d like some peace and quiet so I can try and sleep up here on my shelf, if you don’t mind.”

“Alright, alright,” Bofur said placatingly. “Meant nothing by it,” he told him, receiving a huff of breath in reply. “Good night, then.”

“Good night, Bofur.”

 _Someone’s got a crush,_ Bofur thought gleefully, drifting off to sleep.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Frerin woke first, feeling stiffer than he had in a long time. Sitting upright in a train booth all night did not make for a comfortable sleeping position. He rolled his neck, hearing the bones pop and feeling the muscles twitch. He slid out of the booth and stood, carefully twisting his body to work the stiffness from his bones. Once he was as loose as he was going to get, he walked off to find the communal bathroom to take care of morning necessities.

By the time he returned, Thorin was sitting on the edge of his booth, bent over and rubbing his neck. “Morning sunshine,” Frerin joked. He got a groan in response that sounded vaguely like a request for coffee. “A please would be nice.”

“Frerin,” Thorin warned. Frerin laughed it off and went to put in their orders for a small breakfast. Thorin eventually stood, stretching just as Frerin had, and stalked off towards the bathroom. When he came back he was decidedly less grumpy, though he still groaned as he sat back in the booth when their breakfast arrived.

“I’m too old for this,” he griped, drinking deeply from his coffee.

“Well you look great,” Frerin said, chuckling before taking a bite of scrambled egg.

They ate in silence and when they were finished, they took turns changing in the small public bathroom. By the time they were pulling into Pine Tree, Frerin was eager to be off the train and ready for a nice, hot shower. They hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Bofur and Bilbo the whole morning and decided to check on them before making their way to the exit.

Frerin knocked and after they heard a muffled “come in” he opened the door.

“Morning gents.”

Bilbo waved from the top shelf and Bofur shook hands with him. “Morning yourselves,” he said, smiling toothily at him.

Frerin felt himself smile in return and said, “how did you guys sleep?”

“Oh, like a babe,” Bofur said happily. “I always sleep well on trains.”

“Well, we’re glad to hear it,” Frerin said. “Could I help you with your bags?”

“Such manners,” Bofur teased, handing him one of their suitcases. “It’d be wonderful of you.”

Frerin stepped out and Bofur followed him. They rounded the corner and, seeing that neither Bilbo or Thorin had followed them, Frerin motioned silently for Bofur to peek with him around the corner. They grinned at each other as they watched the scene unfold.

Thorin had replaced Frein in the room and looked up at Bilbo on his top bunk. “So, lose the coin toss?”

Bilbo huffed a laugh, “something like that. That “friend” of mine took the bottom bunk without so much as a “by your leave” last night.”

Thorin’s fists clenched at his sides and he looked as if he were deciding on something. After a couple seconds he seemed to come to a conclusion. He asked, “would you like a hand down from there?”

Bilbo bit his lip shyly and nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

Thorin shook his head. “Not at all.”

Thorin stretched his arms up to Bilbo’s waist while Bilbo extended his downwards to Thorin’s shoulders. Thorin lifted him easily, depositing him gently on the ground. Despite having completed their goal of getting Bilbo down from the cot, they stood like that, arms around each other in a pseudo-hug, for a minute longer than necessary, looking at each other. Then the spell was broken and Bilbo blinked, shaking his head slightly and removing his arms.

“Thank you, once more, for your assistance,” Bilbo said, rubbing the back of his head nervously.

Thorin clasped his hands behind his back and said, “again, you’re very welcome.”

They sidestepped each other, gathering their bags and heading towards the exit. Frerin quickly shoved Bofur out of the way so it didn’t appear as if they were spying. “Well, would you look at that,” Frerin whispered to Bofur.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bilbo so flustered,” Bofur commented.

“You think-”

“Aye, I think.” They grinned at each other and then Bofur started laughing. “I should warn that poor brother of yours. Bilbo’s a slow mover, never seen him make a move on anyone in the whole time I’ve known him.”

Frerin joined him in his laughter and said, “I’ll tell you a little secret. He’s in there with the champ.” They laughed all the way to the door and then stopped abruptly, the scenery outside shocking them both. “Thorin! Bilbo! Come quickly, you’ve got to see this!”

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Thorin couldn’t believe it, not a flake of snow to be seen in the whole state of Vermont. When they stepped off the train they looked around as if it had been the first time they had seen the sun. Thorin asked a porter where they were keeping the snow and the porter had told them the shocking news; no snowfall since Thanksgiving and the temperature had been holding at a steady sixty-five degrees. Then a cabbie called out looking for his scheduled fare to the Green Door Inn, reminding them that they still had one leg of their journey left. They shrugged and lugged their bags to the car and climbed in to see if the situation was better higher in the mountains.

Their eyes were glued to the windows in the cramped back seats of the station wagon that served as a taxi cab. The brothers shared one bench and the performers shared the other, leaning into each other as the station grew small and the trees grew thick. The temperature cooled but not enough to predict snow anytime soon and the performers grew concerned.

“What are we going to do, now,” Bofur asked. “If there’s no snow there’ll be no skiers. No skiers, no floor show.”

“I don’t know, Bofur. Maybe it won’t be as bad as all that,” Bilbo said hopefully. “Let’s not start getting upset before we know what we’re dealing with.”

Matters didn’t look to be any better as they came up the drive to the lodge. Bright green grass and dry looking pines greeted them as the cab dropped them at the entrance. Bags in hand, the group walked in to inquire as to the situation.

Once inside they chattered cheerfully at the clean, cozy look of the place. They were greeted by a woman who appeared behind the front desk. “Welcome to the Green Door Inn, how can I help you folks?” She smiled humorlessly and added, “sorry we can’t offer you any skiing but I can offer you any room at the inn, including mine.”

“Well, I’m sorry to inform you that we didn’t come as guests,” Bilbo began. “I’m afraid we’re your floor show, Baggins and Ri.”

The woman frowned, sagging a bit in disappointment. “I was afraid of that.”

Frerin was quick to add, “well, we came as guests. But I have ask, where’s all your snow?”

The woman blinked, unamused, and said dryly, “we bring it in during the day.” She refocused her attention on Bilbo and Bofur and said, “I’m so sorry but I’m afraid we won’t be able to use you. But we will pay you the half salary for cancelling, of course.”

“We’re sorry to hear that,” Bilbo said, concerned.

“Have things truly been that bad,” Bofur asked.

“We’re using the ski-tow to hang the wash on,” she said plainly. “Haven’t had a lick of snow in almost a month. No one’s coming all the way up here to look at naked pines, this time of year.” She glanced at Thorin and Frerin and asked, “I guess you two won’t be staying either?”

Thorin shared a look with his brother and they silently agreed that if Bilbo and Bofur weren’t staying, there’d be no sense in them staying. “Well, to put it plainly, we came to see the act. So if they’re not staying then I guess we’ll be moving on, too.” They reached down to gather the bags they had been carrying and Thorin said, “terribly sorry for the trouble.”

A familiar voice sounded from behind him, “I wouldn’t say you were any trouble, Thorin.”

Thorin’s spine straightened and he dropped his bags and turned on his heel. There, standing in front of him, was a face from the past. He clicked his heels together and brought his hand up in salute and said, “General Grey, sir!” Frein immediately followed suit and stood at attention next to him.

The General smiled at him, arms wrapped around a bundle of firewood. “At ease, Durins.” He took a step forward, shifting the firewood to free one hand. He reached out to shake Thorin’s hand and asked, “how’ve you boys been?”

“Just fine, sir,” Thorin answered.

“It’s just Gandalf, these days. Or anything you’d like frankly.” He leaned in, a glimmer in his eye and added, chuckling, “as long as it’s not “late for dinner”.”

“Of course, sir, I mean...Gandalf. But why?”

“Well, to put it in one sentence: Most people don’t expect a Major General to carry firewood.” He nodded to Frerin and said, “I’m glad to see your arm is still attached.”

Frerin touched his arm without thinking and muttered, “General Grey...a janitor?”

Gandalf snickered and the lady behind the counter let loose a “ha”. He told them plainly, “I’m afraid it’s worse than that.” He set the firewood aside near the lobby’s fireplace. “I own this hotel.”

“A landlord,” Frerin asked, confused.

The woman rounded the counter and said, “he got it in a shrewd business move.”

“Nothing shrewd about it,” Gandalf protested. He walked over to where the group of them stood and said, “just a friendly match of poker between friends.”

“Friendly my aunt Fanny,” the woman muttered.

Gandalf ignored her and said, “I’m being a terrible host. Might I start the introductions so that I might meet these two gentlemen that you’re with?”

“Oh, of course,” Thorin said quickly.

Gandalf gestured to the woman and said, “this is my housekeeper, Lobelia Sackville. Her granddaughter, Prim, also works here, though she’s out in town now.” Thorin nodded and introduced Bilbo and Bofur.

“We’re your floor show,” Bofur added.

“Don’t worry, I told them that we’d have to cancel,” Lobelia told Gandalf, helpfully.

“I don’t see a reason to cancel. We have a floor and a show to grace it.”

“Yes, but who are they going to sing to,” Lobelia argued.

“I believe we’ll be there, and my two former underlings. The restaurant sees a couple customers every night. Can’t leave them disappointed.” He smiled and crossed his arms, leaning against the counter of the front desk. “And besides, there’ll be three feet of snow out there tomorrow. The whole place will be packed.”

“Is that what the forecast says,” Bofur asked hopefully.

Gandalf shook his head and said, “no, but if there’s one thing I learned in the army it’s this; never back down and never lose faith.”

Bilbo was quick to assure the General, “we want you to know that you needn’t feel obligated to us. Since the lodge is empty and there’s no snow, we could always just-”

“Nonsense! We have a contract. A deal’s a deal, your first show is tonight at eight o’clock.” He smiled at them and added with a wink, “be there or I’ll sue.” Then he stood from the counter and said, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’m on duty in the mess, tonight.”

Both Thorin and Frerin stood at attention and saluted, “yes, sir!”

They all watched him go and Thorin went to the counter. If his General wanted him to stay and watch the floor show, despite the lack of seasonal snow, then he would indulge the man. He smiled politely at Lobelia and said, “we’d like a room with two doubles, please.”


	6. Chapter 6

Thorin sat with Frerin at their table in the inn’s restaurant, watching the show from the back of the room. The lads had done the first half of their act and Thorin was once again enraptured by the passion in Bilbo as he performed. He stole a glance across the table at Frerin and found him just as enamored. He blushed slightly during their Nancy Whiskey number and Thorin had to put all his willpower into not asking why.

Without a break, they jumped right into the second half of their show.

“I hope you all are enjoying the show so far, folks,” Bofur started.

Bilbo joined in, “yes, we want to thank you for your enthusiasm tonight which, let me tell you is not always the case.”

“We’ve traveled this great country of ours, playing bars and hotels and inns just like this one and in all our travels we’ve discovered one thing.”

“What’s that, Bofur?”

Bofur grinned at him then mock whispered to the audience, “I am clearly the star of the show.”

Bilbo scoffed at him, planting his fists on his hips. “Of all the nerve.”

The two walked to separate ends of the stage and began talking over one another. Bofur began bragging about himself. “And you know, I’m the one who rakes in all the money-”

Bilbo talked right over him, “let me tell you folks something, I was up at seven o’clock this morning-”

“And all the women just swoon at my feet-”

“And guess who was in the pub drinking whiskey?”

“Cause who else are the money and the women going to flock to but the star-”

“At seven in the morning! He’d been up all night drinking and-”

“-and these lovely ladies, they strew flowers through my hair,” Bofur fluffed the tufts of hair that poked out from under his hat, to the delight of the audience.

“-spending money, singing, making an arse out of himself-”

“Hey, hey, Bilbo!”

Bilbo cocked a head in his direction, “oh, now we notice me,” he said sarcastically.

“What’re you doing,” he asked, crossing the stage to stand at Bilbo’s side. “I’m telling these people,” he gestured to his side of the stage, “how good I am.” He then turns to Bilbo’s audience and he asked them, “is he over here telling you how good I am?”

At the enthusiastic no’s and laughter he went on, “well that’s just him being jealous because I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He loudly whispered, “I’m a better minstrel than him.”

“Is that so,” Bilbo asked, wry smile on his face.

“It’s true, it’s true, just ask the lady I was with the other day. She said,” he cleared his voice, preparing to sing, _“you’re a far better minstrel than he!”_

Bilbo chuckled and said, “boy, that “lady” sure has a low voice.”

The crowd responded with a laugh and Bofur replied, “if you don’t believe me, ask her yourself!”

“Oh, but I did!” The crowd “ooh”ed at him, enjoying the banter. “I spoke with this young lady of yours, late last night-”

“Late?!”

Bilbo held up his hands in peace, “well, not too late. But anyway, she told me she liked the way I handle my instrument.” He held up an air guitar and sang, “ _she liked it when I strummed on bended knee!”_

A cheer rose up from the crowd and Thorin felt his cheeks heat and shifted in his seat at the innuendo. He wondered if he really did have a knack for pleasing women, if that talent extended to men. He buried his face in his hand before Frerin got a good look at him.

Bofur sang in reply, _“how could she stand your sight you’re so ugly-"_

_“No I’m not!”_

_“Yes you are!”_

_“No I’m not- “_

_Yes you are! All the maidens swoon at the sound of my voice”_

Bilbo scoffed and sang, _“when they’re shackled in the tower they’ve got no choice.”_

Then, to the tune of “Dueling Banjos” they sang over each other in rapid time, Bofur starting them off.

 

_“When we play our rag I get more dough-”_

_“Your jokes and songs are very old-”_

_“Oh, I’m signing lots of pretty autographs-”_

_“_ _Oh, I’m handsome and I’m dashing-”_

_“He is comely and I’m a pretty guy-”_

_“He’s ugly and disgusting-”_

_“He smells of garlic and boy am I so cute-”_

 

Their words bubbled and rolled together and Thorin had a hard time following but got the general gist of the bit. The song hit a part where they sang apart at each other, trying to one-up each other.

 

Bofur started, _“I’m the best minstrel in all the land-”_

_“Every lad and lady is my biggest fan-”_

_“When I sing on key, the birds all sing-”_

_“A gal gave me her diamond ring-”_

_“The girls think I’m the best around-”_

_“The girls all think he’s a clown-”_

 

The singing jumbled up together again, insulting each other and gaining volume until Bilbo shouted out, “wait, wait, wait wait, just a minute now!”

“What?”

“What are we doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Bofur admitted.

Bilbo threw an arm around Bofur’s waist and said, “aren’t we both marvelous?”

“Excellent,” Bofur agreed.

“Wonderful,” Bilbo added.

Then they ended the song singing together, _“we’re modest!”_

 

The crowd cheered, clapping and laughing at the creative song. The two men embraced, laughing, to show that they didn’t mean a word of insult that they had just sung. After the crowd settled they thanked the small audience once more, and wished them safe travels and happy holidays wherever they would ultimately end. They closed their show by singing “The Parting Glass”. Just as he had shown during “I See Fire”, Bilbo poured emotion into every word as they sang slowly and purposefully. The softness that the song evoked reached down into Thorin’s heart, gripping it gently. As the song ended, Thorin managed to catch Bilbo’s eye as the performers scanned the crowd. He raised his glass in salute and nodded, acknowledging their performance. Bilbo smile dropped and he blinked once before nodding back. He quickly replaced his smile and waved to the crowd before he and Bofur skipped offstage to change.

Thorin signalled for a waiter to come take their dinner orders and to order another drink. Frerin nudged him and turned his attention to Gandalf who had stood in a corner, watching over his restaurant as the show went on. Thorin saw the tired but happy gaze as the old man surveyed his new battlefield.

Thorin sighed and said softly to Frerin, “we ate, and then he ate. We slept, and then he slept.”

Frerin huffed a quick laugh next to him and said, “yeah. But then he woke up and no one slept for forty-eight hours. Remember the trek over those damned Misty Mountains? Torture.”

In a matter of minutes, the performers were once again clad in proper attire and had come to their table to share dinner. Thorin and Frerin both rose to greet them, praising the performance.

Frerin told them, “I’m happy we finally got to see the end of your show.”

“That’s quite the creative number, that fourth song,” Thorin commented.

“Well, you know, got to keep the people interested,” Bilbo said.

“Don’t be so modest,” Bofur said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “It’s brilliant! And you wrote it! You should enjoy the compliment!”

Thorin widened his eyes in pleasant surprise. “You wrote it?”

Bilbo shrugged and simply said, “there’s lots of free time when you’re traveling around the country by train. It just came to me.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Thorin told him honestly. But before he could reply, Lobelia came by to take their orders.

Frerin said, “does everyone have more than one job around here?”

She nodded and pointed to Gandalf, “him more than the rest of us.”

Bilbo frowned. “I don’t feel right, taking money from someone in such a state.”

“He won’t dismiss you,” Lobelia told him honestly.

“Do you think he’d let us work for half salary,” he tried.

Thorin couldn’t help but feel a touch of warmth at the man’s concern for his old general. He didn’t know Gandalf, had no reason to be loyal or pity him or try to help him in any way. But yet, there he was, trying to find a compromise to help keep Gandalf afloat.

“That man doesn’t have the word “retreat” in his vocabulary. It’s always “advance, advance, advance”. He’s going to advance himself right into the poor house.” She took their menus and told them to eat hearty before leaving to put in their orders. Thorin decided then and there that he would do something, anything, to help Gandalf as best he could. Reading his thoughts, Frerin sighed. “I wish there was something we could do to help him.”

Thorin told him, “there is. That’s why I’m going to New York, tomorrow.”

The other men straightened to attention at Thorin’s words. Bofur said, full of concern, “but you just got here?”

“Must you leave so soon,” Bilbo asked him.

“How is New York going to help him,” Frerin demanded.

“Did you forget that we happen to have some connections in New York,” Thorin asked him plainly. “I’m sure we can drum up some business, some way to help him.”

“But the problem is here,” Frerin insisted. “There has to be a faster way to help him through the holidays, to see the new year in this place.”

“Well what do you suggest,” Thorin asked. “We need a draw, something to get the people in. Besides the snow. We need a novelty.”

“The skiing is the novelty here,” Bilbo pointed out. “Not much else.”

“I know, but there must be something more, something else that we can advertise to get butts in the seats and bodies in the beds.”

Bofur spoke up, “well, if they’re not skiing then maybe they’d settle for a good show.”

“There’s an idea,” Frerin said, looking at only him, on the cusp of something. “A dynamite act.”

“Like The Durin Brothers,” Bofur offered, smiling.

“No, no,” Frerin said, waving off the suggestion and looking down at his bread plate. But then his head snapped up and he looked at Thorin and said, “wait a minute, that’s actually not a bad idea. Thinking what I’m thinking, Thorin?”

“Something big and expensive, I’d imagine,” Thorin offered.

“What if we did our old act? Fit the lads in, too. Maybe a few other small acts from the Company up here and do one big show? Do you think that might work?”

Thorin thought a moment over a spoonful of soup, swallowed, then said, “I think we’re onto something here.” He waved over Primula, Lobelia’s granddaughter and said, “I need to make a call, New York operator, if you please?”

Primula nodded and said, “of course, follow me.”

She waited for him to rise from the table and then lead him out of the dining hall and into the lobby where he could place his call. He left without another word to them and Frerin watched him go with a resigned look on his face.

“Is something the matter,” Bofur asked, concerned.

“No, he’s just got that look on his face,” Frerin replied. “

What look,” Bilbo inquired.

“The one that says “your idea’s going to cost us money and you better not complain because this was, in fact, your idea”.” He smiled briefly to the two performers before excusing himself from the table. He walked into the lobby in time to catch Thorin mid-speech.

“I know it’s short notice, Balin, but I have faith in you.” He paused, smiling and listening to Balin on the other line. “Yes, yes, the whole show. Everyone and everything you can round up. Sets, costumes, performers, the works. You could mention that anyone who shows gets an extra week’s pay for their time.”

“Whoa, whoa, Thorin,” Frerin tried to break in. “How much is this gonna cost?”

“And you get a bonus,” Thorin continued without acknowledging his brother.

“What’s the cost, Thorin?”

“We open on Christmas Eve.”

Frerin smacked Thorin’s arm to get his attention, “the tab! How much is this going to cost?”

Thorin rolled his eyes and asked Balin, “what’s this going to set us back?” Thorin’s eyes grew wide and his lips parted slightly in surprise. “Wow…”

Frerin felt his heart jump. That couldn’t have been good. “How much is wow?”

“That’s just fine, Balin. Do the best you can. Good luck.” He hung up the phone and turned to Frerin, finally facing him.

Frerin pleaded with Thorin, “how much is wow?”

Thorin ignored the question and said, “brother, we’ve got quite a large job ahead of us. We’re bringing the whole show up here and whatever we can’t get we’ll fill with Bilbo and Bofur.”

Frerin stopped his brother’s explanation by gripping his lapels and dragging Thorin closer so he could look directly into his eyes and ask, “how much is wow?!”

Thorin sighed and said, “right in between “ouch” and “yikes”,” Thorin supplied unhelpfully.

Frerin dropped Thorin’s lapels and took a step back. “...wow.”

“Come, we’ve got a lot of work to do before they get here tomorrow.”

“Right behind you,” Frerin agreed.

They were on their way out towards their rooms when they were met by Lobelia as she flung herself out of the office, tears in her eyes. “Oh, boys, I think you’re doing the most amazing thing for the general!”

Both brothers gawked at her, jaws dropped. “How...how did you know,” Frerin sputtered.

“Like any self-respecting housekeeper, I was listening in on the other line! I just don’t know what to say!” She leaned in and kissed Frerin directly on the mouth. Frerin froze, unable to stop or process what just happened until Lobelia took a step back.

He pointed an absentminded thumb at Thorin and said, “it was all his doing.” “How can we thank you enough,”

Lobelia asked before leaning in to kiss Thorin’s lips, too. Thorin was in slightly more control than his brother, having anticipated her move, and just took her hand, patting it comfortingly, and said, “no need to thank us yet,” before dashing out the door towards their room. Once they were back in their room, safe from anymore affectionate housekeepers, Thorin said, “don’t breathe a word of what just happened to Bilbo.”

Frerin snorted a short laugh. “Why? Think he’ll be put off by you having a love-affair with Mrs. Sackville?”

Thorin threw a pillow at him and received a satisfying squawk in return. “Enough horsing around, down to business.”

He sat down with his checkbook and pen and paper, and began charting out the costs and necessary steps for them to pull off the riskiest move of their entire career.

 

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Bright and early the next morning, the first wave of performers and equipment arrived at the lodge. Thorin and Frerin woke early to greet and help direct everyone to where they needed to be. Trucks pulled up right in front of the massive converted barn that served as Gandalf’s restaurant, and started unpacking the setting equipment. A small group of taxis pulled up right next to them and men and women clamoured out of them to stretch their legs. Balin headed the direction with the Durin brothers.

“Alright everyone, get your belongings and get settled in your rooms, Mrs. Sackville has rooms and keys for all of you. We start rehearsal just after lunch,” Balin told them all.

“Thank you so much, Balin, you’re a saint,” Thorin told the older man.

“You do run me pretty hard, Thorin. But you make it worth my while, I think,” Balin said with a wink. He walked off, carrying his trusty clipboard full of information for the day’s activities.

“What is all this,” Gandalf asked, awe in his voice.

“Oh, sir! Did we wake you with all the noise,” Frerin asked.

“I was already up,” Gandalf said, still distracted, watching the commotion around him. “Have you hired a circus to my little lodge? What’s going on here?”

“Well, you see, sir,” Frerin started.

“We decided that you presented us with an opportunity,” Thorin said, talking over Frerin.

“An opportunity,” Gandalf asked dubiously.

“Yes, sir. You see, your empty lodge gives us the perfect space to set up and rehearse scenes from our new project, _An Unexpected Journey,_ to the masses. It’s an ideal location, you see.”

“Ideal,” Frerin agreed.

“Simply ideal,” Thorin added needlessly.

Gandalf’s eyebrow quirked. “I think we’ve established that my lodge is ideal. But to what masses are you catering to?”

“Well, your audiences here, sir. We use the good people of Pine Tree as guinea pigs. Test out new material and gauge their reactions to see where we could improve.”

Gandalf smirked. “Well, pigs we can get you for sure, but I’m not so sure about an audience.”

“Well, no offense, sir,” Frerin started, shoving his thumbs into his pockets proudly. “The Durin Brothers have never had any trouble packing them in.”

“I suppose not,” Gandalf agreed. He held his hands up in surrender. “I suppose I can let you use my stage for your own devices. You are paying for a lot of beds to be filled so why should I complain?”

“Exactly our thought,” Thorin agreed.

“Far beit for me to tell you how to do your jobs,” Gandalf said, smirking.

“That’s fair,” Frerin agreed. “After all, we would never have told you how to do your job back in the army. We’d never have made good generals.”

Gandalf, still smirking, walked off towards the restaurant to get his morning coffee. He tossed over his shoulder, “you were never any good as privates, to be honest.” He stopped seeing their shocked faces, and laughed. “Come now, don’t look so scandalized. Have a cup of coffee with me before you go on with your busy day.”

“Yes sir,” the brothers said in tandem, running to catch up.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

The morning stretched into the afternoon and the set designers and stage crew wasted no time making Gandalf’s stage their own. They moved the house pieces around and added their own, checking all the rigging that had laid dormant. Sets went up and dancers practiced on the dance floor while the stage crew worked. When all was set, Thorin and Frerin and their stage managers made a dress rehearsal schedule.

Set after set went off without a hitch, including the Durins’ sets. They pulled Bilbo and Bofur in, teaching them the routines while everyone else practiced their sets. When it came time for their rehearsal spot, Thorin was pleased to find that Bilbo and Bofur were both exceptionally quick learners. They stumbled a bit at first, but got the choreography down by their second run through in dress rehearsal and Thorin was confident that they could actually pull off their goal: filling Gandalf’s lodge with customers.

Thorin could feel himself further drawn to Bilbo the longer he stood in his presence. The way the man danced, with grace and passion while still maintaining professionalism, captivated him. Bilbo’s laugh sent a warmth through his chest, his hand in Thorin’s sent a shiver down his spine, his eyes on Thorin’s made his heart hammer. They danced around each other on stage and off, sharing quick banter and easy smiles. Any unease Thorin might have had at the beginning of their acquaintance dissipated quickly, the more they worked together. Thorin found that he didn’t care how Bilbo had come into his life, he was just grateful he had. He swore to himself that he would thank Bofur for writing his letter someday; should there be something to thank him for, of course. And, _gods,_ did he want there to be something to be thankful for.

He came close to spilling over, letting his heart override his head when Bilbo was sitting at the piano bench, running lines with Bofur. Bilbo’s quick fingers skipped over a note and he said a soft “oops” before telling Bofur to start at the top of the line they had been working on. Thorin couldn’t stop himself. In an attempt to get closer to the man, he came up behind Bilbo, caging the man with his arms, and Thorin played the same tune they had been working on, encouraging him all the while.

“You play very well,” Thorin told Bilbo.

“You think so,” Bilbo asked, smile on his lips.

“That I do. Especially since you had never seen this piece before today. I’m very impressed.” His fingers stopped playing on their own accord and Thorin found his head turning slightly to look at the man whose face lingered so terribly close to his. It would be so easy, he thought, eyes moving from Bilbo’s lips to his eyes and back again. Bilbo seemed lost in thought as well until an unfortunately timed cough from Bofur and Frerin distracted them.

When rehearsals ended, Bilbo and Bofur retreated to their rooms to wash the sweat of the day off and get some rest. Thorin watched them go, wishing the day wouldn’t end. Or that the next day would arrive sooner. Something, anything, to bring Bilbo back to his line of sight faster. He had it bad and he frowned, not knowing how to proceed with his newfound information about himself.

“You know you could just ask him out,” Frerin said, sidling up to him long after the other two men departed.

Thorin blinked at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Frerin chuckled, “right, I believe that. And I’m the Queen of England.”

“You know, you just might be. I think a tiara would look divine atop your blond curls.”

“Har, har, the crooner’s becoming the comic, I see.” Thorin retreated from the stage door to the bar to pour himself a drink. “Fixing a nightcap?”

Thorin nodded. He reached for the scotch and poured two fingers neat. “You’d think with all the activity that I’d be exhausted. But, strangely, I find myself with an abundance of energy.”

Frerin wiggled his eyebrows at him, “I know a remedy for that.”

Thorin sipped his scotch and said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, you great prude,” Frerin laughed.

“I’m not a prude,” Thorin defended. “Just respectful.”

Frerin nodded, not saying any more. He just bid his brother good night, telling him to get some sleep at some point. Thorin said his goodnight in return and decided to take his drink to the dwindling fire in the fireplace. He had a lot of thinking to do, most of it involving a pair of bright blue eyes, golden curls, and the hold they had on his heart.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Later that evening, Bilbo found himself shifting in his bed, restless with too much on his mind. Bofur hadn’t slipped into his own bed yet, too busy looking out the window of the small cabin that served at their room. Bilbo paid him no mind, instead concentrated on trying to quiet his mind and comfort his body. But every time he closed his eyes he felt the thrum in his thighs and feet from a day of dancing and he saw Thorin’s bright eyes staring back at him.

It was maddening.

Bofur shifted the covers of his own bed and said, “something the matter, Bilbo?”

“No, just restless. And sore. Having a hard time getting comfortable. Must be the new bed,” he reasoned.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem last night,” Bofur replied unhelpfully.

“Yes, thank you Bofur, for your input,” Bilbo said snappily. He curled in on himself, facing away from Bofur, trying to push Thorin out of his thoughts. It was late, Thorin was technically his boss, and very much out of his league, it wasn’t right. No matter the pull he felt for Thorin.

“You know what you should do, Bilbo?”

“Get you a muzzle?”

“Grab a bite to eat.”

“Not hungry.” That wasn’t technically true. Bilbo had had little to eat that day and a snack might do him good. Give him something else to occupy his mind with. But the restaurant was far enough that Bilbo didn’t want to bother with the effort.

“Lobelia said she left some sandwiches and milk out on the buffet for anyone needed a late night snack,” Bofur enticed.

“Bofur,” Bilbo groaned.

“Come on, you know it would help you, Bilbo.” He leaned over the edge of his bed to speak closer to Bilbo. “I’m just thinking of your comfort, friend.”

Bilbo sighed deeply, and rolled dramatically onto his back, glaring at the ceiling. “Fine! Fine,” he kicked off the covers and reached for his dressing gown so he could walk to the kitchen in comfort, safe from the cold. “I will go and get something to eat, not because I want or need it, but because you refuse to stop pestering me until you do.”

“There’s the spirit, Bilbo,” Bofur supplied cheerily.

Bilbo tied his dressing gown tightly and stepped out into the cold December air. He paused a moment to look up at the sky finding it hard to believe that it was only a few days away from Christmas and there was not a flake of snow to be found in the whole state of Vermont. He looked across the path to see Frerin’s face flicker in the window of the cabin across from his and Bofur’s.

The fact that Thorin slept so close to them was another thing that had him on edge.

The desire to spend more time with the man, in any capacity whether it be dancing or singing nor arguing, was building. Bilbo could feel acutely every glance that was thrown his way from the Producer’s eyes. He felt the phantom pressure on his hands and shoulders where Thorin touched him while dancing earlier that day. He heard the man’s deep, rough voice, calling out a command in his head every time he drifted from strictly professional thoughts. Bilbo couldn’t pinpoint when his unease around the man had melted away and left room for a massive crush to bloom but what he did know is that he was attracted to the man and that terrified him.

While he walked towards the bar Bilbo thought of how he would have to rearrange his life to let Thorin in.

_Would Baggins and Ri get signed into Erebor Productions? Would Thorin suggest I give up my own career? Would I- could I agree to that? What about Bofur? Speaking of, Bofur seemed to be getting pretty chummy with that Frerin Durin, was there something between the two of them? What if he suggested that we break up the act? No act lasts forever, they all end for one reason or another._

The thoughts swirled together as Bilbo wandered into the kitchen, in search of the promised late night sandwiches. What he found, instead, was Thorin.

“Oh,” he gasped, surprised. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Thorin, who was seated at the restaurant’s piano, rose and walked towards him. “You didn’t,” Thorin assured. "What are you doing here? Not that it isn’t good to see you, to be sure.” Thorin shrugged lightly, “I was just curious.”

Bilbo shrugged in return. “I guess I couldn’t sleep. Don’t rightfully know why.”

Thorin smiled shyly. “I’ve been there.”

The two of them shared a silence that made them shift their gazes away from each other but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Bilbo cleared his throat into his fist and broke the silence. “Bofur said something about there being sandwiches and milk?” 

Thorin seemed to snap to attention, ushering Bilbo to the bar. “Of course, I saw Lobelia put them away just over here. Allow me.”

Bilbo let Thorin lead him to a seat near the end of the bar then watched as Thorin went to retrieve a platter piled promisingly high with various types of sandwiches. Carrying it with both hands, Thorin laid the platter on the bar between them before he went back to retrieve a large pitcher of milk. He set himself to gathering plates and glasses, obviously grabbing some for himself as well and asked over his shoulder, “what are you planning on having?”

“Oh, I’m not sure, really. What would you suggest,” Bilbo asked, feeling oddly flirtatious. He leaned an elbow on the bar and perched his chin on his fist.

Thorin placed the two plates on the bar, looking at him thoughtfully. Then he asked a most unexpected question. “What would you like to dream about?”

Bilbo blinked once in surprise, licking his lip nervously. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s just,” Thorin started, seeming to collect his thoughts. “I have a theory about food and what kind of dreams it gives you. Silly, I know but indulge me?”

Bilbo chuckled and countered, “why don’t you tell me what you dream about when you eat? Compare notes, shall we?”

Thorin cracked a grin. “Well,” he said shyly, pointing at a ham and cheddar sandwich. “If I eat a ham on rye I dream about a blond. Classic, not overstated.” He pointd at a turkey sandwich and said, “now, turkey, I dream of a cool brunet. Coy, devastating, but oh so sexy.”

Bilbo laughed in surprise, clutching his stomach. Trying to get his laughter under control he said, “I’m afraid to ask, but what about liverwurst?”

Thorin picked up the pitcher of milk and poured out a glass for Bilbo. He smirked, “I dream about liverwurst.”

Bilbo watched him pour out another glass for himself and then thought about what Thorin had said. It seemed like he was flirting, even if it was in an unusual way, and so Bilbo decided to play along. If nothing else, the sandwiches looked good and he liked turkey.

That was his story and he was sticking to it.

He gently, but deliberately, placed a turkey sandwich on his plate and waited for Thorin to choose his own sandwich before he furthered their conversation. Thorin flicked his gaze between Bilbo’s plate, his face, and the platter between them. After a few seconds, Thorin quickly added a ham and rye to his own plate. Bilbo couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. They stared at each other for a moment before a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold trickled down his spine. To cover it, Bilbo clutched his dressing gown, suddenly much more aware of his current dress, and said, “it’s a little chilly, isn’t it?”

Bilbo’s words seemed to spur Thorin into action. He said, “the fireplace is still going, would you be more comfortable, there?”

Bilbo nodded and together they carried their plates to the restaurant’s fireplace. They arranged themselves on the little couch the stood guard in front of the hearth. He noticed that they sat closer than was strictly necessary but not so close that they would impede each other while they ate.

“Better,” Thorin asked.

Bilbo nodded, “yes, Thorin. This is quite lovely, sort of like an indoor picnic.” He picked up his own sandwich and said, “cheers,” before taking a bite.

Thorin followed suit and they ate in companionable silence, watching the logs crackle and flame. When they were done, Thorin took their plates and glasses and set them aside on the small table beside them. Free of dishes, they sank back into the couch and Bilbo noticed that they had somehow scooted closer together. They were now pressed thigh to thigh and Bilbo’s head was dangerously close to rolling onto Thorin’s shoulder without his express permission. He took notice, also, that he was incredibly awake and that the food had done nothing to make him sleepier. He said as much to Thorin.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I don’t normally have such trouble sleeping.”

“Something on your mind, perhaps,” Thorin offered.

Bilbo looked up into Thorin’s eyes. “Something like that.” Thorin lifted his arm and placed it along the backside of the couch, a silent open invitation to move closer. Bilbo accepted it and slowly closed the small space between them, letting his hand settle on Thorin’s sternum while his head rested against his pectoral. _Oh god, we’re cuddling,_ Bilbo’s mind frantically screamed. Seeming pleased, Thorin delicately draped his arm across Bilbo’s shoulders, holding him without imprisoning him. Thorin released a soft sigh of contentment and Bilbo ducked his head to hide his blushing grin.

Trying for conversation, Bilbo asked, “what helps you sleep?”

Thorin hummed thoughtfully and replied, “my mother always told me to count my blessings.”

Bilbo giggled. “Is that so?”

“Aye. She said “count your blessings instead of sheep”. Didn’t really help but it did make me think of everything I did have. It’s...reaffirming.”

“Anything in particular you’re thankful for this evening,” Bilbo asked, trying to keep the hopefulness out of his voice. He could feel Thorin shift beneath his cheek, looking down at him. Bilbo tilted his head to look up at him in return. Thorin’s eyed him intently and Bilbo could feel his ears grow red with anticipation and preemptive embarrassment.

After what seemed like ages but what no more than a few seconds he responded, “I can think of a few things. For one, I’m thankful I survived the war. That my brother survived as well. That I was able to return to show business with no troubles at all. And,” Thorin paused, tracing Bilbo’s cheekbone with the back of his knuckles, “and that all of that has lead me to you.”

Bilbo sucked in a surprised breath. Shock froze him and he couldn’t think beyond _ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod, he...he just...what?!_ Thorin seemed to misconstrue his tenseness as displeasure and moved to distance himself but Bilbo’s hand shot out to keep his fingers against his cheek. They settled once more and Bilbo decided to take his own brave plunge, hoping that they were on the same page.

“I’m thankful that Bofur wrote the letter.” He licked his lip, mouth suddenly dry. “I’m thankful that you came, saving us from that dreadful landlord. I’m thankful that you are here on this couch tonight.”

“Truly?,” Thorin asked, voice tight and nervous.

Bilbo nodded. “You are a good man, Thorin. Not just for helping Bofur and myself but also for helping the General. I think it’s the most unselfish thing I’ve ever seen, going through all the work to let an old man know that he is not forgotten.”

Thorin’s lips split into a small smile as he ducked his head, shying from the praise. He said softly, “not just saying that for some angle, are you?”

“Thorin,” Bilbo sighed. His fingers curled into Thorin’s palm so that they were quasi-holding hands against his cheek. “No angles. Not from me, anyway,” he promised.

Thorin raised his eyes to search Bilbo for any trace of deception and it made Bilbo thrum with anticipation. He seemed to find whatever he was looking for and he asked, “may I ask you for something? To add to my list of blessings?”

“Of course,” Bilbo replied, near breathless.

“May I kiss you?”

“Yes, Thorin.”

Bilbo tilted his head slightly so that when Thorin lowered his lips to his they met perfectly. Thorin applied a little pressure, making Bilbo sigh. Bilbo released Thorin’s hand and pressed it to his chest, feeling the solid wall of human beneath his fingertips. Thorin’s hands cupped his cheeks, fingers slowly sneaking into his hair, disturbing the soft curls there. He felt Thorin’s tongue seek permission to taste and Bilbo gave it freely, opening for him with a soft sigh. A little dip, a small taste, was all Thorin had before he retreated, slotting their lips together again, lightly sucking in his bottom lip. Pleasure zipped down Bilbo’s spine, making his fingers twist in the fabric of Thorin’s shirt.

The sound of a door slamming unexpectedly made them jump and part from each other, heads snapping in the direction of the intrusion.

“My apologies, gentlemen,” Gandalf apologized sheepishly. “I came here looking for a late night treat but,” he gestured to the couple on the couch, “I see you’ve beat me to it.”

Bilbo blushed furiously and hid his face in his hands, trying to stifle a nervous giggle. Thorin pointed to the bar and said, “Lobelia was kind enough to leave a spread for those looking for it.” He smiled down at Bilbo who peeked out from his fingers. “Will make you sleep like a baby,” he promised.

Bilbo couldn’t contain his mirth and he leaned back into the couch cushions, laughter rolling out of his mouth. He made to stand, stumbling due to his efforts at reining in his outburst, and Thorin helped him as they rose together. They steadied each other and after a minute, Bilbo sobered. He could still feel Thorin against his lips, the slight stubble from his cheeks, the warmth from his hands. His knees felt wobbly and so he took the small liberty in letting his hands press into Thorin’s chest once more. Thorin looked down on him with fondness shining in his eyes.

The sounds of Gandalf fixing himself a plate in the background unwillingly drew their attention to the time. It was late and there were still rehearsals to be done. But Bilbo was hesitant to leave Thorin’s side.

At length Thorin asked, “it’s getting rather late. Might I walk you back to your room?”

Bilbo beamed, “you may. Are you going to bed, as well?” Thorin dipped his head once in the affirmative. He took one of Bilbo’s hands in his own and directed them both towards the door. Bilbo liked the way he felt in Thorin’s hand; safe, protected, cherished. It was unendingly sweet and he thought his cheeks might split from joy. The short walk back to their cabins was filled with the sounds of their feet shuffling along the pathway, empty except for them. The slight breeze cooled Bilbo’s cheeks and he wanted nothing more but for Thorin to replace his hands there to warm them.

All too soon, they arrived at Bilbo’s door. He stopped and waited patiently for Thorin to say goodnight, for he resolutely would not be the one to end their exchange.

Thorin seemed to agree so he asked, “think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

Bilbo couldn’t be sure of that at all. Instead he said, “I think so. And I know exactly of what I’ll be dreaming of.”

Thorin’s smile, which had been shy all evening, cracked just enough to show his teeth. Bilbo felt himself tip over the edge of “infatuation” and into “love” at the sight of it. Thorin was simply beautiful, in every sense of the word and gods how it scared him. Nice things didn’t happen to him often so he mostly reserved himself from relationships. But if Thorin was truly as genuine and lovely as he seemed to be, then Bilbo would let himself fall, damn the consequences.

“That’s good to hear,” Thorin replied. He ducked his head once more to Bilbo’s lips, kissing them softly before saying, “goodnight, Bilbo. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams, Thorin,” Bilbo said in parting.

Reluctantly, he went inside and closed the door after giving Thorin a small wave. Once separated, Bilbo leaned into the wood of the door, biting his lip to prevent a groan of joy from waking Bofur. He pressed his hand over his mouth, wanting to laugh, giddy with disbelief. Quietly, Bilbo tiptoed to his bed and slid into his bed, replaying his kiss with Thorin as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the inspiration for the "dueling minstrels" piece. These guys were amazing and used to perform at my local Renaissance faire until they disbanded and rebanded with different people. They're now called the "Minstrel Review" and having some good stuff out but this is one their oldies but goodies that I just love.
> 
>  
> 
> "Dueling Minstrels" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fCdiaAqN6gQ


	7. Chapter 7

Thorin woke the next day with his heart giddy and light. He couldn’t believe it; Bilbo had returned his feelings, had cozied up in front of the fire with him, had kissed him! His lips broke into a smile so wide it stretched his face and made his cheeks ache. He found himself humming in the shower and while he trimmed his beard. Felt his footsteps grow bouncy as he went off in search of breakfast. He was in such a good mood that he didn’t mind Lobelia asking him to run to town to pick up the mail. He had to pick up the playbills for their show anyway.

He drove into town as carefree as you please, collected the mail for the inn and the boxes of playbills that had arrived. He didn’t even grouse over the large price of having playbills printed on such short notice.

He pulled up to the inn to find Gandalf on the porch watching some of the local men playing horseshoes while he smoked his pipe. Thorin put the car in park and pulled out his own pipe, planning on a shared smoke.

“Lobelia’s enlisted you, I see,” Gandalf said with a wry grin.

“Aye. Not that I mind, had an errand of my own to run.” He took a folded playbill out of his pocket and handed it to Gandalf. “Playbills came in.”

“Already? Imagine that,” Gandalf said, taking the playbill from Thorin. His eyes scanned over the paper his smile growing. “This might pull in quite a few guinea pigs.”

“That is the hope, sir.” Thorin joined him on the porch, sitting while lighting his pipe. “May be enough to draw some attention up here,” he mused conversationally as he watched the men in the yard play.

Gandalf waved a distracted palm through the air. “You may not have to worry about this old geezer-innkeeper for too much longer.”

“Sir?” Gandalf leaned in and said, “I’ll tell you something, Thorin. I’ve decided to re-enlist.”

Thorin’s eyes went wide. “Are you sure?”

“Why? Think I’m too old?” Gandalf gestured to the men playing horseshoes and said, “think it’s time for me to hang up the baton and pick up a horseshoe?”

“It’s just that, well sir, you’re already retired. I know you’ve always been a man of action but isn’t there something you enjoy about retirement, sir?”

Gandalf sighed. He puffed his pipe for a moment or two before replying. “I feel useless here,” he finally admitted. “My years of experience helps no one. But, if I re-enlist, perhaps as an instructor, then I can still be of use.” He waved a hand over the half empty ski lodges. “No one needs a run-down innkeeper. But there might be a use for a General who hasn’t forgotten his roots.” He puffed twice more before adding, “I’ve already written to a friend in Washington, Tom. Should hear back any day, now.”

Thorin smacked his forehead. “How could I forget? Lobelia sent me to pick up the mail.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out the small packet of mail containing all the letters and bills for the inn. “Perhaps there’s something here for you from the War Department,” Thorin said hopefully.

Gandalf flipped through the packet and pulled out a letter triumphantly. “Here it is. Care to listen?”

Without waiting for a reply he read aloud;

 

_“Why Gandalf you sly, old dog!_

_I thought we’d seen the last of you. Not that I mind hearing from a good friend such as yourself, you understand. But your letter came as quite a shock and a welcome source of amusement. It was a bright spot in my day, bringing joy from the comfort of your home to mine. I was just imagining you, actually, sitting there on your front porch while the rest of us poor slobs put in a full day’s work. I was just saying to Edie that “hopefully, another couple of years and I’ll be able to retired like old Gandalf.”_

 

Gandalf’s face fell as he repeated softly, “old Gandalf.” He shook his head to clear his thoughts and read on silently. He folded up the letter suddenly and slipped it back into its envelope and cleared his throat, emotion evident in his voice. “The rest of the letter is about his family. He’s saying that they can’t use me. That there’s no place for me.” He stared off at the men’s game and Thorin stared at him, heaviness in his heart.

After a long silence, Gandalf asked him, “you think it’s a hard game to learn? Horseshoes?”

Thorin cracked a half-hearted smile. “Not for you, sir.” When Gandalf rose and started towards the men he spoke, trying to comfort the old man. “Is a life of leisure really so bad, after what we’ve been through, sir?"

Gandalf smiled fondly at him, hurt still shining in his eyes. “There’s worse ways of life, I suppose,” he said simply before turning his back and greeting the men during a pause in their game. Thorin stood and watched for a few minutes as they let Gandalf try his hands at a few tosses, a couple of them chuckling when one horseshoe bounced off the pole and went skidding back towards him.

Gandalf’s sad smile never left his face.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Thorin found Frerin later, right before his rehearsal for a scene in the second act. He told his brother of Gandalf and his troubles and his idea for making the man feel like he had accomplished something. Thorin reasoned that if enough of their old division came out to salute him that maybe their beloved General wouldn’t be so downhearted about retirement. That maybe he would see something to be proud of, having survived the war.

Frerin shook his head, concern in his eyes. “It’s impossible! We’ll never get a whole division together in time!”

“Then maybe we can get a bunch guys from the his old unit. Just enough to show him that he’s not forgotten. That he didn’t make it out alive for nothing.”

“Thorin, why are we doing this,” Frerin gestured to the theatrical chaos around them, “if not for him? Won’t the show be enough?”

Thorin frowned, shaking his head. “If you saw the way he looked while reading that letter you know it wouldn’t.”

They both sighed, hands cupping their chins in thought. Frerin spoke aloud, thinking. “How are we going to get all of them here on such short notice?”

Then Thorin had an idea; a solution so simple he couldn’t understand why he didn’t think of it before. “Did you forget our interview with Ed Harrison?”

Frerin groaned and leaned his head back against the wall, palm smoothing over his face. “How could I forget that?” Then he jerked his head to stare at Thorin. “Wait, how will that help?”

“I’m going to phone Ed in just a few and pitch the idea to him. You know he used to be under Gandalf’s command, too, don’tcha? We’ll see if he’ll let me make a speech to the boys and get them to come together. What do you think?”

Frerin rubbed his fingers over his lips, eyebrows knit together in concern. “I think it’s impossible, ridiculous, and insane.”

Thorin huffed a short laugh. “Anything else to add?”

Frerin looked him straight in the eye. “Yeah...wish I had thought of it first.”

Thorin grinned widely and clapped his brother on the back. He told Frerin to rehearse while he put in the call and then pack for his trip to New York. They only had a couple days to pull everything off and it’d be a miracle if he did. A miracle Thorin intended to deliver on.

He walked into the lobby and had Lobelia put him through to the Ed Harrison show, asking to speak to the man, himself. Asking her to keep quiet, that it was a personal call, he had full confidence that his surprise would come as an actual surprise to the General. After a little convincing, he managed to get him on the phone and they talked like only old army brothers could. After making his pitch Ed was silent for a moment thinking it over.

“Thorin, that’s a helluva move, trying to get people to stir so close to the holidays.”

“I know it’s a longshot, Ed. But that’s why I want to do it on your show, there’s no other way to reach them all in time. We already had the spot, to promote the show. Why not give the promotion to someone who needs it?”

Ed hummed in agreement. “It would be nice to do something for the old man. If it weren’t for him I wouldn’t know how to peel a potato!” They both chuckled at that and then Ed asked him, “why stop at just asking for the men to come out? Why not put the whole show on television? You said so yourself, you had already planned on promoting yourself. This could be almost $200,000 in free advertising for you and the Company. It’s the perfect opportunity for you! Show everyone how you played Santa Claus to an old man, bringing the joy and charity-filled heart of the season to the good people of America via the Green Door Inn in the heart of Vermont.”

Thorin didn’t hesitate for a moment. He knew that televising their gift to the General would make it seem disingenuous. That it might make Gandalf feel worse about himself, thinking that they saw him as a charity case. Worse, that he might think they were using him for personal gain.

No. That’s not what he wanted at all.

“That’s not the reason we’re doing this. I just want to do something nice for the General. Make a little pitch.” Ed conceded his point, agreeing to keep it a small affair and not force his crew and cameras on them all. They chatted for a minute more before Thorin hung up, promising to see him for lunch before the show. He headed back towards the stage to supervise the rehearsals, feeling better about everything than he had in a long time.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Lobelia, unable to keep from snooping a moment in her life, couldn’t resist the urge to listen in on the other line as Thorin conspired with Ed Harrison. She picked up the line just in time to catch something that made her seethe with sudden rage.

_“-why stop at just asking for the men to come out? Why not put the whole show on television? You said so yourself, you had already planned on promoting yourself. This could be almost $200,000 in free advertising for you and the Company. It’s the perfect opportunity for you! Show everyone how you played Santa Claus to an old man, bringing the joy and charity-filled heart of the season to the good people of America via the Green Door Inn in the heart of Vermont.”_

Just then, Prim closed the door loudly, startling her. She laid the receiver down and helped her granddaughter bring in the laundry, silently fuming. How could he do that to an old man. One to whom he owes his life amongst other things! Her veins pulsed with righteous indignation as she hurried back to the phone to snap up the line and see what other kind of traitorous drivel the men had to say. She’d put them in their place if she had her druthers.

 _“See you in two days, Ed. Say hello to the wife and kids for me,”_ Thorin’s voice said cheerfully over the phone.

_“Sure thing, Thorin. Same to your brother. Until then.”_

The click of the line terminating echoed in her ears as Lobelia lowered the receiver to the base. She placed her hands on her hips and paced, trying to clear the anger from her posture before she faced Thorin again.

Someday she would learn her lesson about snooping. Some things really were best left unheard.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Bilbo walked into the lobby to find Lobelia pacing. He had received word that she had a telegram for him but put that aside after seeing how agitated she was.

“Something the matter, Lobelia?”

She jumped at his voice, hand clutching over her heart. “Oh, nothing, nothing. Just nerves.”

Bilbo could tell that she was hiding something but didn’t press. Instead he asked, “I got word that there was a telegram for me?”

Lobelia patted her skirt, searching, and then pulled out an envelope. She said, distracted, “here you go, Bilbo. It’s just an offer from the Carousel Club, should you and Bofur become available.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle, impressed with Lobelia’s snooping abilities. “What did you do? Hold it to the light?” He held it up to the lamp to see if he could replicate her results.

She snorted in reply and said, “please. Amateur.” She quirked an amused eyebrow at him. “I use steam.”

Bilbo chuckled again, prying open the seal once more to pull out the telegram.

“Quite the pro, it seems.”

She shrugged, straightening the front desk. “Too good, it seems. Sometimes you hear things you wish you hadn’t.”

That piqued Bilbo’s interest. “What did you hear?”

She sighed loudly before fixing him with an annoyed look. She seemed to decide on something and then told him quickly, “did you know that the Durins are planning on putting this whole spectacle on television?”

“No!,” Bilbo gasped. “That doesn’t sound like Thorin at all!”

“I just heard it from the horse’s mouth. The Ed Harrison show, of all things! Right here,” she pointed her finger into the wood of the desk for emphasis, “at Pinetree! Going to put the General on TV and everything!”

Bilbo lost all words. He couldn’t believe it. The man who so despised so called “angles” in others’ agendas and yet he was willing to use the General in such a manner. He shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t believe it,” he stated firmly.

“And it’s a nice, hefty sum of $200,000 in free advertising for their dratted Company.”

“What a terrible thing to say!”

“Heard it myself,” she insisted. “And if I’m wrong I will personally resign myself from the New England Chapter of “Busy-bodies Anonymous”.” The phone rang and she excused herself to answer it.

Bilbo felt his blood boil in disgusted rage. _How could Thorin do that to the General! Use the poor man for his own means! He’s got a lot of nerve to talk about angles! Cannot believe I ever thought myself in love with him!_

Bilbo was still standing, arms bracing him against the front desk when a winded Frerin came in out of the yard. He spotted Bilbo and rushed over with a smile.

“Have you seen Thorin anywhere?”

Bilbo shook his head. “We just missed him,” he said flatly.

Frerin, missing his tone called out to Lobelia, “did Thorin make that call to New York.”

Bilbo sniffed in rage. “As a matter of fact, he did.”

“Oh that’s great!” Frerin smiled, still missing Bilbo’s distress.

“I hear that television has entered the picture,” he stated, rage barely held in check.

“Wonderful! So he figured it all out then?”

“Seems so.” Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest, trying to keep a civil tongue in his head when all he wanted to do was lash out for their despicable behaviour.

“It’s a great little angle, isn’t it?”

Bilbo’s head snapped up to find Frerin smiling. He had thought the Durins were men of honor, of decency. How could he be so blind? “Brilliant,” he said bitterly.

Frerin scooted close to speak softly to him, throwing looks over his shoulders warily. “Would you mind keeping this under wraps for now? It’s just that...well, we wouldn’t want the General to hear about our little surprise, now would we?”

Bilbo swallowed back bile that had risen in his throat. “I understand completely.”

Lobelia returned and said, “that was Thorin calling from the stage. He said to tell you that he was ready to rehearse whenever you are.”

Bilbo huffed a mirthless laugh. “I’ll bet he is.”

Frerin finally seemed to catch onto the fact that Bilbo was upset. His eyebrows knit in confusion and concern and he asked, “is there something wrong?”

Bilbo ignored him and told Lobelia, “tell him I’ll be there in just a minute.” He stalked off towards the stage and saw Bofur coming. He smiling happily, unaware of the turmoil roiling inside Bilbo and he didn’t have the heart to crush his happiness by letting him know just who they found themselves entangled with.

“Hey Bilbo, ready for some lunch?”

“I’m not hungry,” Bilbo said coolly.

“But it’s lunchtime and you haven’t-”

“I said I’m not hungry!,” he snapped back, before pushing his way towards the exit, gunning for the stage. He would give that man a piece of his mind if it killed him.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Thorin hummed happily to himself as he walked to the piano. Earlier that day he had found a copy of the song his mother used to sing to him, the one where the phrase “fall asleep counting your blessings” came from.

He played it once on the piano, the chords coming back to him easily, visions of his mother singing to him as a child. He sang softly under his breath to himself, _“when my bankroll is gettin’ small, I think of when I had none at all. Then I’d fall asleep counting my blessings.”_

He checked his watch and noticed Bilbo was late for their rehearsal and phoned Lobelia from the restaurant’s phone to see if she had seen him. The woman put him on hold for a minute and then told him Bilbo was on his way. He felt his heart soar, knowing the object of his desire was drawing nearer. He smoothed a hand through his hair and straightened his jacket, trying to make himself more presentable without looking like he was trying.

He walked smoothly but anxiously back to the piano and made himself practice the score until Bilbo showed up. He heard the man’s footsteps behind him and Thorin spun on the bench to greet him, unable to keep his grin off his face.

“Hi, Bilbo! I found something,” Thorin said excitedly. “I thought maybe we could do a duet at some point in the show. Maybe before the finale with Santa?” He handed the sheets of music to Bilbo who took them without a murmur. Thorin felt dread tighten his throat for a moment but he brushed it off, just figuring Bilbo was tired or stressed. Certainly he couldn’t be made with him, could he?

It was just one kiss. Okay, two kisses. But Bilbo had seemed just as happy as he had. Did he have second thoughts?

Thorin pretended not to see Bilbo’s distress and played the first few chords and sang, _“when my bankroll is gettin’ small, I think of when I had none at all…”_ he trailed off when he noticed Bilbo wasn’t even looking at the music.

He swallowed thickly, unsure of what he was about to bear the brunt of. “Something the matter?” Bilbo jerked his head once in the negative but his jaw was set tight. Clearly lying. “Please tell me?”

Bilbo handed the music back to him and said, “I don’t think I’m right for the piece,” he said in a clipped voice.

Thorin felt his heart hammer in distress. “Perhaps a different key?”

“I don’t think so,” Bilbo said, walking towards the stairs of the stage.

“Bilbo, what’s the matter?”

“I just don’t think I’m right for the song,” Bilbo said, agitated. “I don’t want to do the song! And I don’t think I want to do the show either!” Bilbo folded his arms, holding himself at arm’s length from Thorin.

He resisted the urge to reach out and soothe Bilbo with his hands, knowing it would be unwelcome. “What’s all this, then? Are you,” Thorin forced himself to take a deep breath and push aside his panic. He asked the question with a double meaning, “are you having second thoughts?”

Bilbo didn’t say anything but his eyes screamed clearly absolutely. Thorin took a step back and folded his hands in front of him and he said apologetically, “I know I...might have come off a little strong last night. I’m sorry if I misread your intentions. If I’ve upset you in any way by our kiss, please know that was not my goal.”

Bilbo turned from him, still holding himself tautly. “I don’t want to talk about last night.”

 _He is having second thoughts_ , Thorin’s brain unhelpfully supplied. “I don’t know what’s brought this on,” he said honestly. “Did you not sleep well,” Thorin asked, trying desperately to figure out where he went wrong.

“I’d rather not discuss it,” Bilbo said harshly.

“Bilbo,” he called urgently. “Please, can we talk plainly? Over lunch, maybe? Have you eaten yet today?”

“Why is everyone so suddenly concerned over my eating habits!” Bilbo threw his hands in the air, annoyance and anger written in every movement of his body. “Why can’t people just leave me and my habits be?!”

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Thorin tried, soothingly, “time-out.” He sighed deeply, shoving his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots in frustration. He said, “if you don’t want to talk, fine.” He walked back to the piano to gather the music he selected, confusion making him weary. “I have plenty of other things to attend to.”

Bilbo snorted humorlessly. “Well I certainly wouldn’t want to impede the business practices of the Great Durin Brothers.”

Thorin looked up at him, thoroughly confused. A beat passed and he commented, “that’s quite a remark.”

Bilbo shrugged. “It’s the best I’ve got at the moment.” He placed his hands on his hips, looking ready to flee at any moment. “Are we done here?”

Thorin nodded once and agreed, defeated, “I suppose we are.”

“Good.” Without another word Bilbo strode off the stage and out the door heading towards their cabins.

 _What the hell just happened,_ Thorin asked himself, wracking his brain for any possible little thing that he could have done, any cue that was misread to make Bilbo so furious with him. Finding nothing, he stormed out looking to light his pipe and fume in peace.


	8. Chapter 8

Frerin gawked as he watched Bilbo and Thorin argue quietly on the stage and then storm off in separate directions. Bofur seemed just as confused when their eyes met. He had looked forward to some quality time with Bofur, a quiet meal with no strings attached. But the turmoil he just witnessed didn’t sit right with him, distracted him from the cozy conversation he and Bofur had been having.

They rushed to the window, kneeling on the couch the lined the walls, arriving just in time to see Bilbo stomp inside his cabin and slam the door. Even from several yards away, Frerin flinched. They both flinched when they heard the backdoor of the stage slam with an air of finality.

They both slumped into the couch in front of the fire. Frerin asked delicately, “have any idea of what just happened?”

Bofur shrugged, unsure. But then he straightened and went “oh”, pulling Frerin’s attention directly to him. “Daylight is beginning to glimmer.”

“How do you figure?”

Bofur ticked off on his fingers, “yesterday, he couldn’t sleep. Today, he won’t eat.” He grinned wildly. “He’s in love!”

Frerin’s face contorted in confusion. “That,” he jabbed towards the stage with his finger, “was love?”

“Positive,” Bofur said with confidence.

Frerin shook his head in disbelief. “If that’s love then somebody goofed.”

“It’s not the love that’s goofed,” Bofur insisted, “it’s Bilbo. He’s deliberately setting himself up for failure, I’m sure of it!”

“But why? They seemed to be so in sync?”

“Probably because he’s afraid,” Bofur reasoned. “Not to mention he’s probably using me as an excuse.”

“Why would that be the case?”

“Because he’s always taken care of me. Since we’ve become a duo, I mean. He keeps after me like a mother hen looking after her chick.” He slumped back into the cushions, thinking out loud. “He’ll never let himself give into his desires until every obstacle is removed.”

“And what’s the last obstacle,” Frerin asked, already dreading the question.

Bofur grinned at him. “That would be me.”

“So...what, exactly? You quit temporarily?”

“No, no,” Bofur said, gesturing with his wrist, batting away the suggestion. “He has to see that I’m taken care of. He’d take me quitting as a reason to step in further. No,” he sighed. “What we need is for me to find someone to act the part of my new “caretaker” to get him to loosen his grip a little. He might let go if he saw me get married or get engaged or something,” he mused.

Frerin swallowed nervously and shifted next to him. “Guess that’s the end of that.”

“Unless,” Bofur said, grinning too much for Frerin’s liking.

“Unless?”

“Unless I get myself engaged real quick.”

Feigning obtuseness, Frerin asked, “and to whom, might I ask? There’s no one up here.”

Playing along Bofur agreed, “well, I suppose it’d have to be someone I know.”

“That always helps.”

“And of course they have to be charming, attractive, witty, good-natured, intelligent, good actor-”

“Yes, of course,” Frerin broke in. “And just where are you going to find such a perfect creature?”

Bofur put a hand on his thigh and slid closer to him. “Now, now, don’t be so modest.”

 _Was afraid of that_ , Frerin thought hastily, gulping back his nerves. “Me?” Frerin scooted away, putting a few inches between the two of them.

“You’re not exactly a Superman but you’re awfully available.” Bofur scooted close, closing up the inches Frerin had created. Frerin scooted again, trying desperately to get the idea out of the man’s head.

“I’m not the marrying type,” Frerin tried, nervously.

“It’s just an engagement,” Bofur said, creeping closer, a mock-innocent smile gracing his face.

Frerin continued his backward slide and said, “well, I’m not the engaging type either.” His back his the corner of the couch and he found himself trapped. _Damn._

“What type of man are you,” Bofur asked teasingly.

Frerin found his mouth dry as he tried to lick his lips. “Th-the kind who’ll gladly pester his brother into marriage but is surprisingly terrified at the prospect himself?”

“Why? Don’t you like me,” Bofur asked with mock hurt.

“Of course I do,” Frerin assured quickly.

“I mean, I’m not exactly repulsive?”

“No, no-”

“And you find my company enjoyable to be with?”

“W-well yes, Bofur, but I feel the same way about my cocker spaniel,” Frerin uttered hastily. _Wait, what?! Your cocker spaniel? Come on, man! Get a hold of yourself, you idiot_ , he screamed at himself.

Bofur blinked once, letting his advance drop as he sat back and gave Frerin some breathing room. Relief and guilt flooded Frerin’s chest. He knew he shouldn’t have said that. He liked Bofur a great deal but…

But what if the engagement backfired? He didn’t want to rush into anything.

Bofur didn’t seem overly affected. He just twirled his mustache around a finger and said, “well, I suppose you’re right. Seems a little silly.”

“Silly,” Frerin agreed, breathless, nerve still a-buzz.

“I was only thinking of Bilbo and Thorin.”

“Bilbo and Thorin,” Frerin repeated. Guilt outweighed his relief when he thought of them missing out on a chance at something great. He didn’t want them to give up so quickly. And who knows, maybe this engagement would work out for the best, he reasoned with himself. He licked his lips before he spoke, weighing his words.

“It would only be for a short time?”

Back on board, Bofur leaned in close again. “Of course! You don’t think I go throwing myself around at men all willy nilly for just anyone, do you?”

“I would never,” Frerin defended, holding his hands up in surrender.

“It would just be for a few weeks at the worst-” At a sharp look from Bofur he corrected himself. “I mean, at the most.”

“Absolutely.”

“And...and we wouldn’t announce our engagement until it was absolutely necessary?”

Bofur nodded in agreement, lowering his voice tantalizingly. “Absolutely necessary.”

Frerin nodded, accepting the terms. “Then I guess we have a deal.”

The two men shook on it and Bofur leaned in, mischief in his eyes. “Is that any way to seal a deal of this magnitude? Shouldn’t we seal it with a kiss or something?”

Frerin nearly swallowed his tongue in panic. He wanted to kiss Bofur, surely, but not like this! Not at the behest of a silly, underhanded deal! “N-not until it’s absolutely necessary.”

Bofur laughed and bounced up off the seat, taking his leave. He waved over his shoulder as he strode out, “see you at the cast party tonight.”

“See ya,” Frerin replied weakly.

_What in gods’ name did you get yourself into, Frerin…._

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

 

The cast party started off as a happy affair for Bilbo. He and Bofur had donned the best suits they had packed and trying to tame their usually wild hair. He wore a deep green suit with gold accents, knowing it made the gold in his hair pop. It made him feel almost as if he was going into battle, donning armour against an enemy. And, in a way, he was.

With shoes polished, cufflinks donned, and tie impeccably knotted, Bilbo accompanied Bofur to the party hall where they could celebrate the opening of _An Unexpected Journey._

Bilbo found it easier than expected to push thoughts of Thorin aside as Bofur and him chatted amicably with the other cast members and the staff in attendance. A couple fingers of scotch downed and he was well on his way to making merry.

Then Thorin walked into the room.

It was terribly unfair, how good he looked. Hair pulled back into an ornate single braid down his back, blue suit bringing out the depth in his eyes

. Seeming to sense Bilbo’s presence, Thorin immediately found him in the crowd. He offered a sad smile and wave, apology in his posture. But it was clear he didn’t know what he was apologizing for and that didn’t sit well with Bilbo. Refusing to give into him, despite his intense desire to talk to him and clearly lay out his sins, Bilbo retreated to a couch with a glass of scotch and listened to the conversation around him.

Most of it was boring, people catching up after a long day of rehearsals, asking after families and lovers, laughing at inside jokes. But the dullness made him comfortable. He didn’t have to think, didn’t have to examine anything. He just sat and listened, trying to decide how soon was too soon politely to leave the party. He knew if he stayed much longer he would end up doing something he’d regret.

And then Frerin interrupted his thoughts. “Hey, Bilbo. Care for a little exercise?”

Bilbo nodded and agreed to dance with him. Hand in hand, they walked to the dancefloor as the band played “The Best Things Happen While You’re Dancing”. They had only danced a couple steps when Bofur came twirling onto the dance floor with Thorin in-tow. They danced in their direction and Bilbo had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t by accident. His suspicion was confirmed when Bofur took his hand, gracefully swapping their places, effectively putting him in Thorin’s arms. Bilbo scowled at his partner and then at Thorin. Thorin had the good grace to look uncomfortable but tried to dance as best he could with a stiff partner.

Bilbo relieved Thorin of the burden of dancing with him by disengaging himself and walking towards the sideline. He was nearly there when his wrist was grabbed and he was spun back into Frerin’s arms. He sighed, his desire to protest warring with his dislike for making a scene. He knew he’d be danced back into Thorin’s arms and he caught Thorin’s panicked eyes as Bofur made the exchange again, Thorin’s hands gentle and hesitant in his own.

Bilbo almost felt sorry for him.

When a pretty girl came up to request Thorin’s hand he gladly let go and walked off towards the sidelines again.

Thorin watched him go, sadness in his eyes, completely disregarding the charming gaze of his new dancing partner, his feet acting out of practiced habit. Bilbo hid his face in his forgotten drink.

After the song ended, he watched over the rim of his glass as Bofur and Frerin had a hasty conversation. They seemed to come to some sort of agreement and some of the tightness in his chest lifted. _Maybe they’ll keep their fat noses out of my love-life_ , Bilbo hoped.

Then the band played a little announcement stir to get everyone’s attention. Bilbo braced himself.

Frerin spoke loudly to the crowd, smile on his face, “thank you ladies and gentlemen for your attention. I don’t know if the best things happen while you’re dancing or if they just happen in Vermont but I’ve just been given the best news.” He held out his hand for Bofur’s and they clasped hands, Bofur sidling up next to him. “It’s my pleasure to announce that Bofur and I...well, actually he...what I mean to say is…” Frerin looked at Bofur as if he were lost in the man’s eyes. “Bofur just agreed to marry me.” He looked up and scanned the crowd. “We’re engaged.”

Cheers erupted around them and Bilbo felt his heart lurch.

He felt a mixture of happiness and jealousy combined with panic and anger and confusion swirl in his gut. He clutched his stomach, reeling, gripping his glass tight. He should have been paying more attention to Bofur and Frerin, watching to see how they were interacting. He never did get a good feel for the man.

_Was Bofur making a stupid decision? Was he truly happy, even after just a few days of knowing him? Did Frerin truly realize what he was getting in Bofur? What happens with our act now?_

Thoughts collided against each other in his brain but he forced himself to smile and go congratulate the couple. He put his drink down and wiped his sweaty palms on his sides, making his way to them.

He pulled Bofur into a hug and said, “I’m so happy for you, Bofur.”

“Truly, Bilbo?” Bilbo nodded and pulled back, taking in Bofur’s delight.

“Truly.” Then he shifted his gaze to Frerin and said sternly but friendly, “you do realize you’re getting the best partner a man could ask for?”

Frerin nodded quickly. “Aye, that I do.”

Bilbo wagged a finger at him, one arm still slung protectively around Bofur’s waist. “And you promise to take care of him?”

Frerin sagged with fondness, looking between Bofur and Bilbo. “Of course.”

Lobelia appeared from the depths of the crowd and she exclaimed, “this calls for champagne!” Bilbo nodded and offered to help, excusing himself. As he left he could hear Thorin congratulating his brother. He heard him rib Frerin good-naturedly and Bofur’s rich laugh in reply. Tears formed at the corner of his eyes as he pushed his way into the kitchen.

He made himself busy by helping Lobelia pop open a few bottles of champagne and fill glasses and load them on trays. Prim and Lobelia each left with one while Bilbo lagged behind, unable to keep tears at bay. He let a couple slip loose, wetting his eyelashes and sliding down his cheeks. He wiped them away angrily, steeling himself to reenter the party and make merry.

He felt eyes on his back and he turned to see Thorin lingering in the doorway.

“Bilbo,” he said softly, sympathy in his voice. He saw Bilbo’s reddened face and made his own assumptions. Bilbo left him to them, he wouldn’t help him with any revelations. He nodded in acknowledgement of his presence and then turned back around, stocking a tray with glasses.

Thorin took a few cautious steps into the kitchen until he stood at his side, taking two glasses in his hands. He held one out for Bilbo and he had a small rise of hope that Thorin realized his wrongdoing. He took the offered glass and stood there, unmoving and silent.

Thorin clinked their glasses together and said, “let’s drink to their happiness. And to sandwiches and milk, and maybe new beginnings?” He took a sip of his glass and watched with hopeful eyes, obviously wanting Bilbo to partake in his toast.

A new wave of anger swept of him and Bilbo set the glass deliberately on the countertop and he strode out of the room, aiming for the safety of his room. It was too much to hope that Thorin would apologize for his deception against the General. It was too much to think that he was an honest man. That he understood Bilbo.

He didn’t.

He managed to hold off until he closed the cabin door behind him but as soon as the door clicked shut, the tears flowed. He knew that he would have to move on. He would have to leave Bofur behind and separate himself from his pain. Thorin might have been a dirty dealer but Frerin might have a shred of honor. And he promised to care for Bofur. He would be leaving him in good hands. After a brief emotional outburst, he reigned himself back in. He wrote out a letter for Bofur and neatly folded it in an envelope. Then he neatly put away his suit and packed his clothes. Luckily he didn’t have much and he and Bofur had separate dressers. His partner would have no idea he had packed and planned to leave until it was too late. Finished and decided, he readied himself for bed.

He had just slid into bed when the door opened softly.

“Bilbo,” Bofur called to him. “Are you awake?” Bilbo refused to answer, feeling his eyes well again with sadness.

He heard Bofur changing his clothes for bed before he crawled into his own bed. He tried to get Bilbo to talk to him again, gently baiting him for conversation. “Are you happy for me, Bilbo? Do you like Frerin?” He chuckled, “he’s promised to give me the world. Can you imagine? I know you must be worried about the act. I know we said we’d never break it up, and I don’t want to, of course. But, if there’s anything you’ve been wanting to do...well, now’s the chance to go ahead and do it.”

He felt Bofur’s gentle fingertips reach out to try and stir him. It took all of Bilbo’s willpower to remain still and not tense up. “Bilbo? Are you sleeping?” After Bilbo remained resolutely silent he heard Bofur sadly bid him good night. While Bofur slipped into slumber Bilbo cried silently, mourning the end of his comfortable partnership and cursing Thorin Durin.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

When Frerin announced his engagement to Bofur Thorin nearly choked on his pipe. Thorin sputtered, surprise gripping him. He knew Frerin was trying to get his peace in life, bullying Thorin into courtship with any and everyone, but did he want it so badly as to get married himself? Removing him, by necessity, from the frontlines of the Company.

He was happy for him, of course. What brother wouldn’t be?

But his joy was short lived when he saw Bilbo’s gaze turn watery before he seemed to collect himself, congratulating his friend and partner. They shared a few words and when Bilbo moved on, following Lobelia towards the kitchen, Thorin got up to offer his own congratulations.

“Well Bofur, I truly don’t know what you see in him but I swear, once you get to know him he’s almost entirely bearable.”

Bofur laughed heartily and leaned into Frerin comfortably. “I assure you I already find him to be quite agreeable.” He nudged Thorin with his elbow and jerked a thumb towards the kitchen. “And just so you know, the water’s fine if you were looking to take any plunges yourself.”

Thorin’s lips pressed tightly and he shook his head minutely. “I found the water to be a little icy today.”

Bofur brushed it off and insisted, “that was today. I’m sure by tomorrow it’ll perk and warm up. Why not give it a shot?” 

Just then Gandalf came up, shaking all three men’s hands and offering his joyful blessings. “Congrats, you kids. Couldn’t wish for better.” He leveled the new couple with an appraising eye. He asked Frerin, “well, aren’t you going to kiss the groom?”

Frerin squeaked in surprise and said, “oh, uh, yes, of course, sir!” He pressed a quick peck to Bofur’s lips. Bofur smirked, obviously unimpressed. Thorin hid his chuckle in his sleeve, walking away as Frerin corrected his previous attempt with a deeper kiss.

As Thorin made his way toward the kitchen he heard Bofur ask, “now that wasn’t so painful was it?”

Frerin replied, “you know, in some ways you’re far superior to my cocker spaniel.” Thorin rolled his eyes and prayed that Frerin grew some tact. Or, maybe not, considering he had already nabbed himself a fiance. Thorin felt a pit of sadness grow in his stomach, feeling with every fiber of him that he had somehow messed up everything with Bilbo. If only he could figure out why maybe he could sleep at night.

He saw Bilbo, back to the door, as he wiped at his face. Was Bilbo crying? Thorin itched to comfort the man, wanting to soothe his hurts, even if he unwittingly caused them. Bilbo straightened and turned, facing him. It was clear he had been emotional and Thorin felt his heart swell with pity. He couldn’t imagine what was going through Bilbo’s mind.

“Bilbo,” he said softly, hoping everything he felt -sympathy, longing, contrition, fondness- was clear in his voice. Bilbo seemed agreeable to sharing space with him, but he also looked like any sudden movements would spook him. When Bilbo turned his back to him without comment and began making busy, Thorin took it as a sign he was allowed to move closer.

He picked up two glasses and held one out to Bilbo. Wary, Bilbo took his glass and Thorin made a small toast for the two of them. “Let’s drink to their happiness. And to sandwiches and milk, and maybe new beginnings?” He took a small sip, hoping that he had made an impact.

And boy, did he make an impact. Just not the kind he had been hoping for.

Bilbo’s face screwed up angrily and he put his champagne down, untasted, and stormed out of the room. Thorin watched him go, still maddeningly perplexed. He found the General’s eyes as he walked out of the kitchen, hope drained away. The General looked at him with an unnamable expression but silently nodded towards the door and patting his pocket, silently indicating his intent for a smoke. Thorin nodded and together they made their way out the door.

They puffed on their pipes in the cold winter air, quiet for a few minutes. And then Gandalf broke the stillness. “Is there something the matter, Thorin?”

“You could say that.” He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke out slowly. “But damned if I know what it is.”

“I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding,” Gandalf suggested.

“I’m sure you’re right. I just wish he would tell me what that misunderstanding was.”

They lapsed into silence again, looking up at the clear sky, full of country stars, and Thorin forced himself into stillness. He had gotten along fine without Bilbo before, he would do so again. It would just take some time, an adjustment period. Just like back in basic. In his first few days in the fray. Somehow, though, this adjustment seemed more painful.

 _Maybe because this one was fresh_ , he reasoned with himself.

Thorin couldn’t say how long they stood there, smoking and star gazing. But eventually, he felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder, stirring him from his thoughts. He found Frerin grinning at him and Bofur just behind him.

“To bed, brother?”

Thorin nodded. “I think so, yes.” He dipped his head once in Bofur’s direction. “Congratulations, once again. I’m sure you’ll be quite happy together.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Bofur agreed. He shot a lascivious grin in Frerin’s direction that made the man’s ears glow red even in the dim of the porch lights. Frerin mumbled his goodnights and kissed Bofur’s cheek chastely, taking off before anyone else could get a word in. Thorin bid him and Gandalf goodnight and followed his brother.

Once inside their cabin the brothers ditched their party clothes and and Thorin wrapped himself in his blankets, searching for some modicum of comfort. The brothers didn’t speak and it was just as well for Thorin.

He didn’t have any more words.

The next morning Thorin woke early to make his preparations to leave the following day for the Ed Harrison show. He wanted to collect the mail, walk, clear his head a little. Maybe think of something to say that would make Bilbo confide in him what his mistake was.

He talked with the porter, making arrangements for the, hopefully, large influx of passengers that Pinetree would receive over the next few days. He bought his ticket and was just finishing up his business when he spotted a familiar golden head make its way to a soon departing train. Fear and panic gripped him as he watched that small body climb onto the train.

His voice rang out without his permission, “Bilbo!”

Bilbo’s head whipped around to find Thorin walking swiftly towards him. “Where are you going,” Thorin asked, the need for action stirring him.

“I’m going to New York. I’ve accepted a job there,” Bilbo told him plainly.

“But, but why? Where are you working?”

“Goodbye Mister Durin,” Bilbo reached out to shake his hand in parting. “It was an honor to work with you.”

Thorin detected sincerity and sadness in that voice and he gripped Bilbo’s hand tightly, not wanting to let go. “Please, Bilbo, I’m so sorry! Whatever it is I’ve done-”

The train’s whistle cut him off and the train started to slowly pull away. He was going to lose Bilbo and he had no idea how to fix it.

“Goodbye, Thorin,” Bilbo said firmly, gripping the handrail of the train with his free hand so that he wouldn’t fall as the train pulled out.

Thorin held on until the last possible second, his hand slipping out of Bilbo’s grip as the train took him away. He watch Bilbo go until the train was out of sight. Feeling lost, he looked around, trying to find an anchor to stop the wave of unsteadiness hitting him. He found Gandalf staring back at him from his car, pity in his eyes. Thorin looked to him and then back to the empty tracks, unable to shake the feeling that the train had carried off his heart with it.


	9. Chapter 9

Bofur’s breath came in quick gasps after his rather enthusiastic dance with the chorus line. He had thought that stepdance was hard to learn but, boy, were these choreographers something else. He grinned from ear to ear, spotting Frerin in the crowd watching him. He sent the man a wink in reply, accepting a towel from one of the other dancers to mop his brow. Frerin bounced up on stage and began talking about final decisions and critiques before their next run through and Bofur listened, feeling lighter than air.

 _Engagement does wonders for the constitution_ , he thought gleefully.

Okay, so it was a fake engagement. But the feeling still applies.

He closed his eyes and stretched clasped hands high above his head to stretch his muscles while they listened to Frerin’s notes. He felt a soft tap on his shoulder and turned to find Prim behind him holding out an envelope.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But Gandalf asked me to give you this letter. He said Bilbo gave it to him at the station this morning.”

Bofur’s brow cinched in confusion. “The station?”

He took the letter from her, thanked her, and tore into it to read. Two lines in and his blood ran cold.

 

_Bofur,_

_I never thought I’d get the opportunity to perform with a brilliant partner such as yourself. Traveling the country with you, singing in dingy bars has been some of the best times of my life. But in the light of your engagement, it seems to me that you don’t need me anymore. Much as it pains me to leave you this way I feel it’s best._

_Don’t you worry yourself over “poor Bilbo Baggins”, though. I’ve accepted a job at the Carousel Club in New York. I’ll be here for a month or so, so when the show is over please drop by for a visit. And bring Frerin with, too, I suppose. He seems like a good guy who will do his best to make you happy. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness and hope that my sudden departure hasn’t ruined our friendship._

_Merry Christmas, Bofur._

_-Your friend,_

_Bilbo_

 

Bofur’s hands shook. he covered his mouth with his palm, trying to hold back his gasp of surprised regret. _What have I done?_

The meeting had just broke up and people milled about, stretching and going for water before the next round of rehearsals started again and Bofur found himself rushing to Frerin’s side. He put a frantic hand on his arm and at the sight of Bofur in such a state, Frerin grew concerned.

“What’s the matter, Bofur?”

Wordlessly, he held the letter out for him to read. He watched as Frerin’s eyes scanned the paper and his face grew pale. He heard him curse under his breath before locking eyes with him.

“He just up and left? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Bofur answered honestly. “I thought that taking me out of his concerns that he would go after what he really wanted! I didn’t think he would take himself out of our act! Out of the show!” Tone growing frantic he added, “all the way to New York!”

Frerin put his hands on Bofur’s shoulders and rubbed his thumbs soothingly over his shirt. “Calm down,” he said softly. “There’s only one way to fix this and you know it.”

Bofur swallowed. “We have to tell Thorin, don’t we?”

“Aye, we do.”

Frerin took in a deep breath and then let out a long exhale. “Sooner rather than later, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Like ripping off a bandaid,” Bofur agreed.

Frerin let his hands slide off his shoulders and gripped Bofur’s right hand in his left and tugged him off stage to find Thorin. Bofur relished the contact, hoping that their fake engagement hadn’t ruined anything between them.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Thorin sat on his bed as Frerin and Bofur confessed their scheme to him, steadily growing madder and madder. When they finished they stood there, casting nervous glances at each other and Thorin and finally he stood, both of them stepping back in fear for his response.

He growled darkly, “how could you do that to us?” He took a step forward, hands itching to wring their necks. Instead, he put them on his hips and tried to keep his tone even. “A phony engagement?” His voice barked sharply, “and for what?!” His voice made them jump and it gave him a tiny glimmer of glee to see their reaction.

“It’s just that,” Bofur defended. “Bilbo’s always been a little bit of a mother hen to me. When I saw how close you two were getting I,” he swallowed, looking every bit as remorseful as he sounded, “I just thought-”

“You just thought,” Thorin cut in dryly.

Frerin stepped between them and finished for Bofur. “We just wanted mother hen to leave the nest so that he could worry about himself for a change.”

“And now he’s gone,” Thorin challenged. “Good job, the both of you,” he added sarcastically. Resigned, he turned to begin packing his suitcase.

“Now where are you going,” Frerin asked, panicked.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m still going on the Ed Harrison show tomorrow. I should have been packed already but storytime with you has put me a little behind schedule.” He hastily folded up his clothes and shoved them into his case. “I’m going to make a detour to the Carousel Club and see if I can’t straighten things out with Bilbo.” He paused briefly and pointed an accusatory finger at Bofur. “Better count yourself lucky, mister. You might have been stuck with this weirdsmobile,” he pointed at Frerin for emphasis, “for life!”

Bofur’s face fell and he walked out the door without a word to either of them. Frerin watched him go, taking a step to follow but seemed to think better of it.

Thorin resumed his packing, tossing things in without a care. At length Frerin apologized softly, “I’m so sorry, Thorin.”

“What have I told you about staying out of my lovelife?”

“But Thorin-”

“No Frerin! Look what you two have done! You,” he rounded on his brother, furious. But seeing how upset Frerin was, truly distraught, Thorin felt himself deflate a little. “I know that you think I’m miserable and lonely. And to a point, you’re right.” Frerin’s eyes widened in surprise, not having anticipated the sudden confirmation. “But it was wrong of you to deceive us like that. We’re not pawns for you to move around.”

Frerin nodded in agreement. “You’re right.”

“I’ve got one job for you to do while I’m gone,” Thorin told him, glossing over the rest of his feelings. He would never get out of Vermont on time if they hashed out the breadth and depth of his emotions regarding Bilbo and their scheme.

“What’s that, Thorin?”

“Gandalf likes to watch the Ed Harrison show every night, right? Your job is to keep him away from that television set tomorrow while I speak to the men.”

“And how do you propose I do that?”

“Don’t rightfully care,” Thorin told him plainly. “Just distract him long enough for me to say my piece. I go on at nine o’clock.”

Frerin nodded, excitedly. “Of course, Thorin. I’ll do it, no problem. Nine o’clock. I’ll break my arm again if I have to,” he promised.

That made Thorin’s lips twitch in amusement. “Heh, your arm, leg, your neck.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder after hefting his suitcase off the bed. “So long as it’s not anything important, right?”

They both laughed, easing back into their familiar camaraderie. Frerin walked him to the lobby where he waited for a taxi. Together they quietly discussed final arrangements for the show and what Frerin needed to finish before opening night. It was two days before Christmas Eve and there was still so much to do.

When Thorin settled in his compartment for the ride to New York he mulled over, again and again, what he would say to Bilbo when he reached him. How to explain everything, how to gain his trust back.

When the train pulled into New York, he still didn’t have a clue as to what to say. He wracked his brain the rest of the evening as he set himself up in his hotel room. He pondered it over his morning coffee. He scoured his brain all afternoon as his feet took him to a taxi and to the Carousel Club to see Bilbo perform before the show. He had arranged for Ed to meet him at the club before moving to the studio, a silly measure to make his visit to Bilbo seem legitimate, beyond wanting to see him.

When he walked into the club and saw Bilbo’s headshot on the board as the headliner for the evening pride and sorrow mingled in his chest.

He still didn’t know what to say.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Bilbo, dressed in a fetching all black suit with a glittering tie, stopped to check his slicked hair in one of the mirrors that lined the gaudily decorated restaurant. The club was way more posh than he was used to, unnecessary frills and splashes of color denoting exactly who the clientele was. He dressed himself to match it; a new look to drive out the old Bilbo. The one who worked for tips with his friend, the one who joined a show like a boy running to join the circus, the one who had carelessly kissed a man. A Bilbo who was happy.

His new exterior was one that oozed sophistication and demanded attention. It took some getting used to.

His eyes caught a familiar face in the mirror as it was being ushered to a table.

Would Thorin never let him be? Would he continue to haunt him to the end of his days and beyond the grave? His anger had given way to intense loneliness and regret. He should have confronted Thorin. Even if it was a shrewd business move on his part, at least he wouldn’t have a lingering, empty feeling in his gut. He would at least have closure.

Then a spike of panic shot through him when he remembered what his first number was to be.

He rushed off to the stage manager to implore him to change the number.

“What’s the matter, Bilbo? The number was fantastic! And so unexpected! It’ll really get the audience jazzed up,” he said with a wide grin.

“Please, just...anything else? “Blue Skies” or, or...anything,” Bilbo implored, trying to keep calm.

“No, no, let’s stick to the setlist, okay? Don’t be shy, now! It’s a wonderful piece.”

When the band started it’s tune, signalling that his time was up, Bilbo allowed himself to be ushered to the stage and take his place behind the gauzy curtain. Bilbo’s pulse raced in sharp contrast to the lazy, jazzy tune but he was a professional. He set his face in the hardened look he practiced for his first piece and when the curtain rose he took his few confident steps to center stage and began to sing.

 

 _“Love, you didn't do right by me_  
_You planned a romance that just hadn't a chance_  
 _And I'm through”_

 

He forced himself not to look at Thorin while he sang, not wanting to see his reaction. Didn’t want to admit that there might be sadness or, worse, indifference to Bilbo’s choice of song. Even if he had chosen it specifically with Thorin in mind.

 

 _“Love, you didn't do right by me I'm back on the shelf and I'm blaming myself  
But it's you,”_ he sang, accusation dripping in his voice.

 

He sang coolly, seemingly detached, just as they had rehearsed. He noticed people leaning in, listening intently. Still, he kept his gaze off Thorin.

 

 _“My one love affair didn't get anywhere from the start_  
_To send me a Joe who had winter and snow in his heart_  
 _Wasn't smart_  
 _Love, you didn't do right by me_  
 _As they say in the song "You done me wrong."_

 

Then he collected his emotions deep in his belly, using their energy to belt out the next set of verses, suddenly making it seem as if he were losing control. Just as they rehearsed. Except this time, the emotions were real.

 

 _“My one love affair didn’t get anywhere from the start!_  
_To send me a Joe who had winter and snow in his heart_  
 _Wasn’t smart Oh, oh, Love!_

 

He stalked towards the audience with an angry glare, taking in their rapt expressions.

 

_“You didn’t do right by me  
As they say in the song “You done me wrong”_

 

Finally, he allowed himself to look at Thorin, finding him just as captivated. He sang the last words directly to him as he walked backwards towards the curtain.

 

_“Yes Mister Love  
You done me wrong!”_

 

He threw his hands in the air, head tilted up as the applause rang out around him. The curtain fell in front of him and he let himself sag as the adrenaline that kept him calm through the song leached out of him.

He gulped down a few breaths before straightening imagined wrinkles in his suit. He knew he needed to face the man, no telling what he was there for. Bilbo might have slunk away to lick his wounds without saying goodbye but dammit, he wasn’t a complete coward. If Thorin was here so soon after his departure then there had to be a good reason.

 _Time to face the music,_ he told himself before stepping offstage to greet Thorin.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Thorin didn’t think he would ever get used to the way Bilbo sang. With such emotion and depth that it made him want to weep. The fact that he was singing about love gone wrong didn’t escape him. Nor did the look that Bilbo leveled at him at the end of the piece.

This song was most certainly for him but Thorin still couldn’t figure out why. It made him ache.

He didn’t have to wait long to see Bilbo. Just after the curtain fell, there he was, stepping out from the stage and walking over to meet him, smile on his face. He fully took in Bilbo’s new look, the smart suit and the carefully tamed hair. It made him look gorgeous but unapproachable, like a work of art. He wanted to reach out and dislodge the pomade from Bilbo’s hair and bring back the soft curls he was so fond of.

Instead, Thorin rose to shake the man’s outstretched hand in greeting.

“Thorin,” he started. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. What brings you here?”

They both sat at his table and Thorin answered honestly. “I had a little business to take care of.” He fixed Bilbo with a look that he hoped conveyed peace, “some of it concerns you.”

“Oh?”

“Well, it seems that you broke up your act a little prematurely.” Thorin took a sip of his Manhattan cocktail before continuing. “Bofur and Frerin’s engagement was a sham.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened momentarily in shock before he settled his face back into a mask of calm. “Is that right?”

“Yes, well,” Thorin uttered sheepishly, “it seems that they thought that you and I were serious about each other. They wanted to remove any barriers between us. Silly isn’t it?” Thorin knew it was a cheap shot but he didn’t want to seem too eager or too apologetic. He still didn’t know what Bilbo’s anger was about and he had given him every opportunity to tell him so he could right the wrongs.

Bilbo nodded and looked at his tightly clasped hands on the table. “Totally silly,” he agreed. Then he looked at Thorin with an expression that he couldn’t decipher. “Why do people think it’s alright to stick their nose in other people’s business?”

 _My thoughts exactly_ , Thorin agreed silently. “That’s people for you,” he said noncommittally. “We just had a couple of laughs together and they thought we were suddenly in love.” Thorin ducked his head to hide the truth of his statement. He had come to terms already that he had been falling for Bilbo. But it seemed evident that Bilbo did not harbor any such returning feelings.

After a beat Bilbo said softly, “ridiculous,” refusing to meet Thorin’s curious eyes.

“Absolutely,” Thorin agreed quickly. He locked up his feelings for Bilbo, now hearing confirmation that they weren’t returned in any way so that he could move on. He cleared his tight throat and took another sip of his cocktail. “Well, getting back to the point,” Thorin continued, “they’re sorry. They’d like you to come back.” He added, almost without thinking, “I’d like it if you came back, too.”

He saw Bilbo lick his lips and drop his eyes to the table. “I don’t know about that, Thorin.”

Thorin followed the movement and they landed on their joined hands. He had no memory of reaching out to Bilbo and he didn’t seem to have any designs on pulling his hands away either. Thorin took it as a good sign. He leaned in and coaxed him gently, “listen, Bilbo. I know that something has gotten you upset. I’ll fully admit that I don’t know what caused your distress but I’d like to fix that, if I can.”

Before Bilbo could answer Ed Harrison joined them at the table, pulling them out of their intimate conversation. “Thorin! So sorry I’m late but it’s almost time for the show! We have to get going!”

Thorin’s attention was pulled from personal to business in the blink of an eye. He stood, regrettably releasing Bilbo’s hands, and he buttoned his jacket. He cast a desperate glance to Bilbo and introduced them. “Bilbo, this is Ed Harrison.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Bilbo replied courteously.

Ed nodded to Bilbo in acknowledgement before focusing on Thorin again. He regaled excitedly, “boy, have I come through for you! The whole network is behind you and we have everything all rearing and ready to go!”

Thorin smiled tightly at him, wishing for just a few more minutes with Bilbo. He seemed on the verge of being ready to talk when Ed showed up and he wished he didn’t have to go so soon. He told the man thanks and then asked Bilbo swiftly, “looks like I have to go. Can I come back later tonight? After the show?”

Bilbo shook his head, “no, no, I have an engagement later.”

“Tomorrow before I leave,” Thorin pleaded.

“I’ll be busy all day,” he told him firmly. He looked up but refused to meet his eyes. “You better go, you’re keeping Mister Harrison. Thorin felt dread rise in his stomach, knowing for sure that he had lost his chance to make things right with Bilbo. He tried one last ditch effort to get him to talk, feeling Ed grow antsy next to him. “What will I tell Bofur?”

That seemed to get a reaction out of him. He bit his lip and said, “I’ll think about it. You better hurry,” he gestured towards the door. “Don’t want to miss your show.” And then, with a nod in farewell, Bilbo took his leave and walked backstage.

Thorin stared after him, feeling all his hopes for happiness with him crumble as he let Ed drag him out of the club and into a taxi. A few minutes in the car gave Thorin the time he needed to push his personal feelings aside and don his professional persona.

By the time he and Ed were walking into the studio, he had a smile on and was ready to make a plea to his brothers in arms. Five minutes before the show was due to go on, Ed pulled him aside and asked, “are you sure Frerin can keep the General away from the TV?”

Thorin chuckled lightly and said, “when it comes to scheming, I have complete confidence in Frerin.”

Right at nine o’clock Ed stepped out onto the stage and greeted the audience. They were off and running.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Frerin let Lobelia in on their little secret in an effort to get her to help him distract the General. At first she seemed upset, then apologetic, and agreed to help Frerin in any way she could. Together they decided that nothing short of a medical emergency or fire would get him away from the television long enough to give Thorin time to make his speech.

Still, they tried something less drastic first.

Bofur and Prim sat in the den where the General had set up his TV and waited for the man to join them. Frerin stood at the stairs waiting for Lobelia’s signal that their first plan of attack failed. Prim would tell the General that the car’s battery was dead and needed tending to. Bofur would try to ply the man with a drink and late snack. As expected, neither worked and at Lobelia’s scream he fell to the floor clutching his leg.

“Oh, dear me!,” she cried, waving a handkerchief in front of her face.

“What’s the ruckus,” Gandalf asked from the den.

“Oh, General! Come quick! Frerin’s fallen! He might have broken something! Oh, quick quick!”

 _Woman deserves an award for that performance_ , Frerin thought humorously. He played his part perfectly, clutching his leg, curling tight into himself as if he were wracked with pain, and groaning loudly. Approaching footsteps alerted him to Gandalf’s presence.

“What’s all this, son,” Gandalf demanded, concerned.

“Oh, probably nothing, sir,” Frerin said, trying to sound pained. “Probably just a small compound fracture...nothing to worry about.”

“Call a doctor, Lobelia,” Gandalf said, donning his commanding voice like an old coat. He knelt down next to him and hooked his hands under Frerin’s arms to haul him from the floor. “Think you can put your weight on it?”

Frerin swayed purposely and gingerly put his toe to the floor before howling in fake pain. “Don’t think I can, sir!”

“Well, the doctor will be here soon,” Gandalf told him sternly. “Let’s move you to where you’ll be more comfortable. Maybe watch a little TV, hmm?” He tried to steer him towards the den and Frerin let himself slump in deadweight, slowing the movement.

“No need for a doctor, sir! It’s probably just a small internal muscular hemorrhage! Just need a little rest!”

“Then let’s get you to a comfortable seat. Watch the Ed Harrison show with me while you heal,” Gandalf reasoned.

Frerin let himself slip and then groan loudly before asking hurriedly, “no, no, sir! Please, just help me to my room? I’m sure a little walk will sort me right out!” Gandalf sighed but agreed.

By the time it had reached half-past nine, Frerin had had Gandalf walking him round the cabins for half an hour and he could tell he was testing the General’s patience. He caught sight of Lobelia from the porch giving him a thumbs up, telling him the coast was clear and that he could drop the act. Gradually, he let his “injured” foot settle on the ground firmly and thanked the General for his help.

“You can still catch the last half of the show,” Frerin offered in apology.

“I think I will,” Gandalf told him before bidding him goodnight and dashing back into the house.

Frerin watched him go, feeling better than he had all day, knowing he had kept his word to Thorin. He walked himself back to his cabin and laid on his bed, planning on making good use of his lie and getting a few extra hours of sleep.

After all, putting on a show on top of causing emotional turmoil wherever you went was hard work.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Bilbo settled in the club’s break room to watch the Ed Harrison show. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he wanted to simultaneously see Thorin redeem himself and also confirm his distrust with the man. Either way, maybe he would get the closure he needed.

Ed Harrison came into view on the screen and he welcomed his audience, waving and smiling. He gave a brief summary of the show to come and then announced Thorin. “I’d like to give you all a real big treat for the first part of our show. A good friend and fellow soldier from my army days, a heck of an entertainer, Thorin Durin!”

He gestured to stage left and Thorin came out, smiling and waving. He met Ed in the center of the stage and Ed continued his speech. “Thorin, here, has a special message for the guys who were part of the 151st Division. It’s about someone very close to all of us, but I’ll let him tell it to you.” He gave Thorin a smile and said, “take it away, Thorin.”

“Thanks, Ed.” He watched Ed walk off stage before turning his gaze on the center camera. Once the applause died down music began and Thorin’s rich voice sang over the airwaves.

 

 _“When the war was over, why, there were jobs galore  
__For the G.I. Josephs who were in the war  
__But for generals things were not so grand_  
_And it's not so hard to understand_  
  
_What can you do with a general_  
 _When he stops being a general?_  
 _Oh, what can you do with a general who retires?_  
 _Who's got a job for a general_  
 _When he stops being a general?_  
 _They all get a job but a general no one hires”_

 

Thorin gestured broadly with his arms, singing with genuine emotion and Bilbo couldn’t tear his eyes from the television. He knew he was sitting on the edge of his seat like a fool but he didn’t care. He just had to know what Thorin had to say.

 

 _“They fill his chest with medals while he's across the foam_  
_And they spread the crimson carpet when he comes marching home_  
 _The next day someone hollers when he comes into view_  
 _"Here comes the general" and they all say "General who?"_  
  
_They're delighted that he came_  
 _But they can't recall his name_  
 _Nobody thinks of assigning him_  
 _When they stop wining and dining him_  
 _It seems this country never has enjoyed_  
 _So many one and two and three and four star generals_  
 _Unemployed”_

 

The audience applauded and Thorin took a small bow. The camera panned over the audience briefly to show that they had enjoyed the little song but soon returned its focus back to Thorin. He waited for the din to quiet before speaking again.

“Thank you for your candor. Like Eddie told you, that song is for the 151st Division, the officers of the men under the command of General Gandalf Grey. Listen up boys, cause I’ve got a big request of you.” He clasped his hands in front of him solemnly and Bilbo felt himself enthralled. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you but if you can find it in your hearts to come to Pinetree Vermont, specifically the Green Door Inn, there’s a General there who thinks himself forgotten. Christmas Eve is a tough time to travel, I know. And some of you boys can’t make it and I don’t blame you, though it shouldn’t be too much of a stretch for those of you in the New England area.”

He paused for effect and added, “now I want you all to know that this isn’t some publicity stunt. No one involved in this is getting anything out of it. Not myself, my brother, the folks on this show or anyone else. Except the chance to give the nicest Christmas gift to the kindest man we’ll ever know.” He nodded once, and pointed a finger at the camera emphasizing his point. “The orders for Operation Grey have been given out, I hope more than a few of you will turn out. Thank you, and Merry Christmas folks!” The crowd erupted in applause and Thorin walked off stage.

Ed Harrison came back on, thanking Thorin for his time but Bilbo didn’t hear it. He was stunned to his very core. He was so wrong! So wrong about Thorin! He had been so mean and so...so _cold_ to the man. He had a sudden fear that he had lost something precious. A rush of guilt swept over him and Bilbo knew he had to do something or risk losing Thorin forever. He had some major damage control and apologizing to do.

Starting, first and foremost, by rescheduling his contract with the Carousel Club.

It took some convincing but after an hour of drawn out conversation, the club agreed to let Bilbo go for a week before giving his spot away to someone else. Bilbo thanked the manager profusely and then rushed to his hotel so he could begin packing. Getting a train out that night was not possible, and it might not be possible to get one the next day either, seeing as it was Christmas Eve, but Bilbo would try.

Everything in him wanted to go to Thorin immediately and tell him he was sorry, explain his baseless anger and beg for forgiveness. But thoughts of the show and it’s fast approaching opening stopped him. Thorin had other things to worry about than just him and their screwed up relationship, if it could still be called that. He would find his way back to Pinetree and figure it out from there.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late to start over.


	10. Chapter 10

Thorin resolutely pushed thoughts of Bilbo to the backburner of his mind and threw himself into work. When the show was over, he fielded telegrams from fellow servicemen who had wanted to tell him of their assured participation in Thorin’s plan. He didn’t expect to get such a response right away but was encouraged by the immediacy of it all. When he got back to the hotel he put through a call to Lobelia at the inn and told her to relay to Frerin that everything was coming off without a hitch and that he would be back in the late afternoon before the show.

That night was the first since meeting Bilbo that Thorin slept soundly.

He woke early to make final arrangements with his bankers and assure that funds were going where they needed to be, sparing one small thought for Bilbo and wishing he had agreed to meet with him, before having a hasty lunch at the train station.

Soon, he found himself back in Vermont and accompanied by a couple men from the 151st who were making their way to Pinetree. After pulling into the station they made their way to a taxi bound for the inn, sharing the fare. When he walked into the lobby of the inn he was greeted by a small group of men who had driven there earlier in the day and hugs and laughs were shared all around. Soon after, Frerin and Bofur found him and he hugged his brother in reunion.

Thorin pulled his brother aside while Lobelia set up the newcomers with rooms. “I can’t believe they’re here!”

“Me either,” Frerin confessed excitedly. “And Lobelia says she’s been getting calls for reservations all day! Between our performers and the boys, the inn is almost full!”

“Where’s the General,” Thorin asked, concerned that their surprise would be outed.

“Lobelia sent him into town to gather supplies and run errands. Should keep him all day.”

“How are we explaining the abundance of cars?”

“She’s saying that they’re here for the show.”

“Perfect,” Thorin grinned. “Do you remember that song we sang at our first show?”

“That Christmas show? Which one?”

“The one for the General, for when he was being reassigned.”

Frerin nodded in recognition. Thorin confided in his brother the idea he had cooked up of them doing an encore of the performance, having the men march on stage. “Everyone’s already going to bring their uniforms, it’ll be perfect!”

“I like the way you think, brother.” Frerin slung an arm around Thorin’s neck and dragged him towards the stage. “Time to get things in motion! We don’t have much time.”

“That we don’t,” Thorin agreed. “Lead the way!”

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a tizzy of activity. The brothers rushed everywhere, making sure costumes and sets were ready, that everyone was confident in their choreography and lines, that the men were arriving on time and that Lobelia was setting them up with where they needed to be. By the time it was time for everyone to be backstage before the curtain rose, Thorin was humming with adrenaline and ready to begin.

He walked backstage where all men were donning their uniforms, some happy that they had stayed in shape and some grumbling that their clothes had shrunk. Thorin joked and mingled, soothing nerves and catching up. Frerin had gone to check that Lobelia had hidden all of Gandalf’s suits, forcing the man to wear his uniform to the show. Lobelia anticipated a fight but Thorin knew that she was a formidable woman who would find a way to get Gandalf to comply. At long last, the calls for curtain rise came and everyone got into position.

All was silent, waiting on the cue that Gandalf had entered the room.

One of the men in the crowd shouted, “ten-hut!” At the call, everyone in the room stood and applauded for the General. Most of the men had brought their wives and children and the whole room was filled. Men who didn’t care to march stood next to their families and the ones who did want to march suddenly appeared on stage when the curtain rose.

Thorin caught the old man’s eye and winked. Then the music started and they began to sing.

 

_“We’ll follow the old man wherever he wants to go_   
_As long as he wants to go, opposite to the foe”_

 

The men marched off stage, filing down the center of the room, leaving a big aisle like they would at inspection time in bootcamp. The whole room was soon filled with men in uniform, singing to their beloved General.

 

_“We’ll stay with the old man wherever he wants to stay  
As long as he stays away from the battle’s fray  
Because we love him  
We love him  
  
Especially when he keeps us on the ball  
_ _And we’ll tell the kiddies we answered duty’s call_   
_With the grandest son of a soldier of them all!_

_Because we love him_   
_We love him_   
_Especially when he keeps us on the ball_

_And we’ll tell the kiddies we answered duty’s call  
With the grandest son of a soldier of them all!”_

 

All fell silent and Thorin stood at attention at the head of the line and saluted the General.

“Troops are ready for inspection, sir!”

Gandalf saluted in return and took a couple of cautious steps before falling back into a commanding stride. He reached the mouth of the aisle and walked down it, eyeing men as he passed. Some of them visibly straightened, hoping that their dress was as impeccable as they had thought.

“I am unsatisfied by the appearance of this outfit,” he barked. “Some of you are under the impression that having been in Anzio entitles you to forgo your neckties. Wrong! Neckties will be worn in this division!” He walked up the steps of the stage where more men were packed in, all smiling fondly as the General berated them. “Look at you, a disgrace to the outfit!”

Thorin wanted to laugh, loving the fondness they could detect in the old man’s voice.

“You’re soft, you’re sloppy! You’re unruly and undisciplined!” Gandalf stopped at the top of the stage and turned to face the men he had passed, glancing at each one of them. “And I never saw something so wonderful in my whole life,” he ended softly. “Thank you, all.” The men applauded their leader and he walked off stage to shake hands with several of them.

He walked back to the front of the line where Thorin stood and he shook his hand gratefully. “Thank you, Thorin.”

“Any time, sir.”

Gandalf walked to his table and shouted, “at ease!” to the men before having a seat. The men quickly broke rank to join their families at their tables and music for the opening number began. Thorin was in this one, and so he stalked up to the stage to meet Frerin and begin the number. Frerin shook Thorin’s hand and Thorin grinned, elbowing him in the ribs goodnaturedly as Frein began to sing;

 

 _“When I was mustered out_   
_I thought without a doubt_  
 _That I was through with all my care and strife”_

Thorin picked up the tune and sang next;

 

 _“I thought that I was then_  
_The happiest of men_  
 _But after months of tough civilian life”_

 

Together they sang, tap dancing in their dress shoes;

 

 _“Gee, I wish I was back in the Army_  
_The Army wasn't really bad at all_  
 _Three meals a day For which you didn't pay_  
 _Uniforms for winter, spring and fall_

_There's a lot to be said for the Army_   
_The life without responsibility_   
_A soldier out of luck_   
_Was really never stuck_   
_There's always someone higher up where you can pass the buck_

_Oh, gee, I wish I was back in the Army!"_  

 

They turned to stage right, waiting for their dance partners to join them and Thorin’s mouth dropped to see someone who he’d thought he’d never see again.

Bilbo.

In full costume. Ready to jump right in. _When the hell did he come back?!_  Rather than think about it, he smiled and did the skit, letting Bilbo and Bofur do their part of the routine, dancing and singing around him and Frerin.

The two partners sang together;

 

 _“Gee, I wish I was back in the Army_  
_The Army was the place to find romance_  
 _Soldiers and WACS_  
 _The WACS who dressed in slacks_  
 _Dancing cheek to cheek and pants to pants_

_There's a lot to be said for the Army_   
_A guy was never lost for company_   
_A million handsome guys_   
_With longing in their eyes_   
_And all you had to do was pick the age, the weight, the size_

_Oh, gee, I wish I was back in the Army!"_

 

Together they all sang the rest of the song, dancing gayly and singing their hearts out. When the song ended and they exited the stage Thorin found himself gripping Bilbo’s hand and pulling him to a prop closet. He didn’t care how Bilbo got there but he wanted answers all the same.

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

Bilbo had managed to get a late train out of New York and into Vermont. It had been a close call but luckily he managed to get to the inn just a few minutes before the show started. Bofur met him and pulled him into a tight hug, making him promise not to leave again without saying so. Bilbo complied and rushed them both backstage so they could change and join the two brothers onstage for the first number.

They almost didn’t make it but by some Christmas miracle they did. The look on Thorin’s face was well worth the trouble.

The first number finished, they walked offstage to mighty applause. Bilbo didn’t have time to catch his breath when Thorin pulled him into a prop closet. His back was slammed against the wall and Thorin asked him impatiently, “what are you doing here?!”

Bilbo licked his dry lips before answering. “Asking for forgiveness.”

“But...but,” Thorin sputtered, “I thought I was the one meant to be asking? What have you to be sorry about? Aside from sending my poor heart to an early grave?”

Bilbo twiddled his fingers nervously. “I need to apologize for being so quick to think the worst of you.” At Thorin’s confused expression, Bilbo explained. “Lobelia might have listened in on a part of your conversation with Ed Harrison. She was under the impression that you would use the General’s misfortune for your own gain and,” Bilbo closed his eyes and ducked his head, “that just didn’t sit right with me.”

Thorin sagged in relief. “So, you weren’t mad about the kiss?”

Bilbo’s head jerked up and a surprised laugh escaped him. “No! Gods, no. I’m sorry I left you in the wind, Thorin.”

Thorin took his hands and kissed his knuckles. Then he leveled him with a look that spoke volumes. “Bilbo, you should have talked to me about it. Why didn’t you?”

Bilbo didn’t rightfully know, to be honest. “I was afraid to be proven right. Or wrong. I should have said something, and I wish I did. Running away was so stupid,” he admitted.

“Yes it was,” Thorin agreed. He caressed Bilbo’s cheek with the back of his fingers, stroking the soft skin there. “Can you promise not to hide your anger from me anymore? To be honest with me? Not that I plan on angering you anytime soon,” Thorin asked.

Bilbo nodded quickly, “oh yes! Of course. Honesty from here on out,” he promised.

Thorin smiled tenderly. “Then I forgive you.” He pulled the smaller man into a hug and they clung to each other, finally gaining the closeness they both desired. After a minute Thorin drew his face back just far enough so he could look at Bilbo once more.

Bilbo knew Thorin wanted to ask him something so he said, “speak your mind, Thorin.”

Thorin bit his lip and Bilbo’s eyes darted to watch the movement. Thorin grinned to see Bilbo’s eyes catch him and he asked, “could we give that kiss another try?”

“Yes, Thorin,” Bilbo said, thinking he’d never ask.

They sunk into each other, lips pressing firmly against each other. Lips parted and tongues licked into each other’s mouths and they gripped each other tightly. Bilbo felt his lip get pulled between Thorin’s teeth and he moaned softly, feeling weak in the knees. The kiss grew heated, breaths coming quicker and hands beginning to roam. Bilbo was fast losing himself in the sensations Thorin was giving him when a sharp knock on the door pulled them from each other with a jump.

“Thorin, I’m thrilled you and Bilbo are back together,” Frerin called from the other side of the door. “But you’re in the next scene and you need to be on stage!”

“Shit,” Thorin cursed under his breath.

Bilbo giggled and hid his face in his hand. “We’ll be right out,” he called back.

They straightened their crinkled clothes and exited the closet to find the smiling faces of Bofur and Frerin. Bilbo told them to shove off and all four of them rushed off to get fixed for their next sets. Thorin was quickly dressed and onstage for his set and Bilbo was left alone with Bofur while they dressed.

“Glad to have you back,” Bofur told him.

“Glad to be back.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Bofur snickered. Bilbo tossed a cotton ball from the makeup counter at him and Bofur held his hands up in surrender. “Everything all square with you two, then?”

Bilbo nodded. “Seems to be.” He nodded in the direction of Frerin who was directing things backstage while changing into his next costume, “what about you two? No longer engaged?”

“For the moment,” Bofur confirmed. “We’ll see what time says about that.” The two of them laughed and finished the final touches of their costumes.

Frerin bounded back in their direction and said, “Bilbo, you’re up next. Get with your group.”

Bilbo saluted, “yes sir!”

Frerin nodded once and leaned down to kiss Bofur soundly on the lips and said, “and you get in line. You’ll be up after that.” Bofur grinned dopily at him, not moving a muscle. Frerin asked distracted, “what? What’s that look for?”

“You kissed me,” he said happily. Frerin looked confused for all of two seconds before he realized what he had done, kissing Bofur without the pretense of being engaged, and froze. Bilbo and Bofur laughed at him and Bofur pat his cheek, drawing his attention back to him.

“Don’t overthink it.” He kissed Frerin back, holding him close and longer than Frerin originally did. When the music for the last set stopped he pulled back and said, “see you after the show, tiger.” He took off in the direction of the rest of the chorus line, ready to go on stage.

Bilbo took one look at Frerin’s flushed face and started giggling all over again. Deciding to save the man from himself, Bilbo hooked his arm in Frerin’s and said, “let’s get you finished up for the next number. Time to go, Romeo.”

 

~-----~❅~-----~

 

The rest of the show went off without a hitch. Thorin looked out often at the audience, watching Gandalf who looked like he was on cloud nine. During intermission he noticed that many people came up to speak with the General and it warmed Thorin’s heart to know that he and Frerin had made a difference.

It was two scenes before the finale when someone rushed backstage to tell them all, “it’s finally snowing!”

In disbelief, Thorin and Frerin raced to the big barn doors that served as the back end of the stage and opened them. They looked on in wonder when they saw a thick, fluffy blanket of white snow over everything in sight. _Nothing could be more perfect_ , he thought. He told the stage crew to forgo the snowy backdrop they had chosen for the finale and just leave the doors open, bringing the Christmas spirit into the show for real.

In no time, he, Frerin, Bofur, and Bilbo were all dressed in Santa costumes, carrying large sacks of gifts, and surrounded by a children’s choir. They had a couple of ballerinas dressed like little snowflake fairies to dance while they sang the final number, and the choir was dressed in red in white to match the men. To complete the image, the center of the stage was home to a giant decorated Christmas tree.

From opposite sides of the stage, Frerin and Thorin and Bofur and Bilbo, walked to meet in the center, flanked by children holding candles and the little ballerinas. The music for “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas” started just as they faced the audience. Everyone sang in unison;

 

 _“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas_  
J _ust like the ones I used to know_  
 _Where the treetops glisten_  
 _And children listen_  
 _To hear sleighbells in the snow_

_I’m dreaming of a white Christmas_   
_With every Christmas card I write_   
_May your days be merry and bright_   
_And may all your Christmases be white”_

 

Everyone in the audience was enchanted by their singing and looked on in awe as, behind them, the snow fell. Thorin felt his heart close to bursting with joy, knowing that they had done a job well done. At the end of the song everyone held hands for a group bow, thanking their audience. Once the curtain fell everyone was rushing around to get changed so they could enjoy the snow. It wasn’t long before the stage was empty.

Except for Thorin and Bilbo.

Bilbo smiled up at him, fiddling with his Santa costume. “I don’t know if red really suits me.”

Thorin smiled at him and took his twitching fingers in his own. “Seemed to look just fine to me.”

Bilbo smiled shyly, biting his lip. He tugged them towards the open doors to watch the snow fall, leaning into Thorin. Thorin obliged him and put his arms around Bilbo, pulling him close. They watched as the kids, who always seemed to be the first to run around in fresh snow, play gleefully in the fresh powder.

After what seemed like forever but what was no more than a few minutes, Bilbo looked up at Thorin again and said, “Merry Christmas, Thorin.”

Thorin smiled down at him and replied, “Merry Christmas to you too, Bilbo.”

Slowly, like they hadn’t moved at all, they met in a tender, sweet kiss. They pulled back and looked into each other’s eyes, completely content to be exactly where they were, snow and all.

 

~fin~

~-----~❅~-----~


End file.
